Postwar Effects
by Anlynne
Summary: The war was over, but Hermione's life was just beginning.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_ Three wizards killed... Premeditated murder... Witch tortured in own home... Muggle-born is suspected... Revenge being sought... All corners of England... Aurors... Helpless..._

Hermione sifted through the pages of the Daily Prophet, her dirt brown eyes grazing the words that were in nearly every article. The moving photos beside them showing Aurors in bloodied houses, the Minister of Magic, Kingsly Shacklebolt, shaking his head in bewilderment and sadness.

In the mornings, before she turned to her cases, she read the wizarding paper over her coffee. It sounded like the perfect way to start the day; it was mundanely normal, which was exactly why she enjoyed it so. Since she was eleven and was told she was a witch, she needed normalcy. Not that it ever happened to be a favored term of hers, but she had lived an abnormal life even being a witch.

Voldemort was defeated, the war was over, but horrific events continued to rage on as though it never ended. There were loved ones looking to avenge their loved one's deaths. In general societies head was the idea that a war would have never taken place if it were not for the purebloods. They were to blame for everything.

Hermione spent her school career determined to prove that girls and muggle-borns were just as good as any pureblood wizard. She felt she had fully accomplished that, and she was proud. All she wanted and all she worked for was justice and peace. They won the war, but it meant very little if people were still suffering.

She flipped to the front page where Harry's picture was smiling professionally at her. She read the announcement, though she didn't have to. He told her himself a week ago that he was to speak out in a ministry meeting about the hatred their world was carrying. Actually, he told her that he was going to take her advice and call a meeting to surmise if a larger attendance was needed to get their point of harmony across.

She rolled up the paper and placed it in the trash where she wouldn't have to look at it. It was haunting her, leering at her. Reminding her that she wasn't doing a good enough job.

In her pocket, her mobile vibrated and read the screen.

Luna was the only fellow friend of hers that used the muggle device. After the war, Hermione insisted that each of them buy one. It was supposed to be for emergency; a quick way to contact each other privately (owls were slower and patronus ' were much more perceptible ). Luna helped with the teaching, as she learned how to utilize it from her mother's diagrams (the spell that had gone horribly wrong). However, the mobiles didn't remain just for emergency, as Ron used his constantly, thinking it was "bloody wicked."

She flipped the mobile open and pressed it to her ear. "Hello, Luna."

"Hello, Hermione. A lovely day, is it not?"

It was pouring rain outside, but she didn't question Luna, who had been known as Looney Lovegood in school for good reason. "Yes, it is. Is everyone alright? It's pretty early."

"Tomorrow is May 3rd."

Instantly she recalled the engagement. "I remember, I'll be there."

"Oh good. I hope everyone can come."

"I do too. Harry, Ron, Ginny and George are coming."

"Hm, I was hoping for more of a turnout. That's okay, though. If that's all there will be, then it will be comfortable."

"It will. I'll see you then."

"Good day, Hermione."

A second after Luna hung up, there was a text flashing on her screen.

_They are doing okay. They miss you._

Her heart ache, a small consisting ache since she said goodbye to them. She wiped a stray tear away and clicked her mobile closed, her attention focusing on the Daily Prophet once more. It would be advisable for the group to gather together and celebrate the good. Maybe Hermione could forget the bad.

She brought her wallet in front of her, sliding out a precious picture that never failed to bring her hope. She touched the edges and thought of the last time she saw the people in the photo. It had been too long and every second was a horrible wait. She wished she was there or they were with her. She would have to call them that night, to hear about their day and tell them vaguely about hers.

In the meantime, she had plenty of work to occupy her mind. Her caseload had become much thicker since she had righted the laws for magical creatures. Humans had their own problems, and she was determined to give them a fair helping hand as well. Someone had to do it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"To ten years of peace," Ginny pronounced, raising her glass of Firewhiskey.

From the darkest corner of the pub Harry, Ron, George, Neville, Luna and Hermione reached to the middle of the table, clinking their glasses together, but not one of them smiled. Not one of them looked happy in the midst of their "celebration."

It was May 3rd, 2008, a full decade after the last battle of the second war, known as the Battle of Hogwarts. Although they won, it was at great personal loss. Over fifty lives were taken, every one of the good remembered in a memorial at the Ministry of Magic. In the Atrium, carved at the edges of the new stone-white fountain were the hero's names.

It was Neville's idea to gather for drinks that night at the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had been right on board, assuming that it was a fine thing to do, to honor the sacrifice given for their cause. However, it was quickly proving to be the worst thought they ever had. Celebrating the good did not take the bad off of anyone's minds, not the loved ones that were missing. Friends, parents, and siblings...

Hermione took the smallest of sip, the liquid setting fire to her tongue and throat, a semblance of a dragon. It was once called "the dragon's drink" for that reason. She was about to share that bit of information, for at least Luna would take the slightest of interest, even if it was to add something unreal at the end, but before she could there was a bang.

Harry leapt from his seat, his wand in hand, wildly searching for the source.

George cursed. "Sorry, mate." At the bottom of his glass could be seen a few trickles of the alcohol. He had guzzled it all.

Hannah Abbott, the proud owner of the pub came rushing over, wiping her hands on her apron. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry placed his wand back to the inside of his robe. "It's fine, Hannah. It was a mistake."

She heaved a great sigh of relief. "Good, good. Um, is there anything I can get for you?"

Ginny stood, the pitcher of Firewhiskey in her hands. "Butterbeer, please."

Hannah accepted the pitcher, and shrunk nervously against the stares, the whispering. There was the light blush on her rounded cheeks. She hadn't changed at all in ten years. Except for the crinkles under her eyes. They showed an age far wiser than her own.

"Is that _Harry Potter_?"

"Yeah, yeah, it is."

"It _is_, it's Harry Potter!"

"What's he doing here?"

"Suppose he's a celebratin', he is.'"

Ginny cursed softly when she had sat down, slamming her hands on the table, the back of her knees hitting the chair as she addressed the unwanted audience. "Yes! This is Harry Potter! The 'Chosen One.' The one who defeated Voldemort. These are his friends! These are his friends that are not deaf and neither is he! Now that we've cleared that up, for Merlin's baggy y-fronts, finish your drinks!" She spun and threw herself back into her seat, her hair falling among her tense shoulders.

The chattering lowered instantly to mummerings, and a few strained coughs. That was when Hermione had no doubt in her mind that the night was doomed before it began.

"You sure have a way with the people, Ginny."

"Shut up, Ron."

Hannah wheeled around, facing the crowd. "Please, go back to your drinks," she told her customers as Harry sat.

"That was exciting," Luna mentioned airily, fingering the indistinguishable carving in the table surface.

A smile grew on Neville's face as he fondly looked to her, and Luna peered back to him matching the softness in him. It was like watching a light grow brighter, and it was an intimacy that Hermione could barely stand. Like looking into the sun.

"I'm going to work," George announced.

"It's nine," Neville pointed out. "And everything's closed for the holiday."

"I have some paperwork."

"Who are you, Hermione?" Ron jest. "Sit down."

George didn't respond, he simply walked away, leaving the quaint pub to the streets of bustling London. It could hardly be heard over the happy chatter of others regaling stories of peace and politics.

"I don't think he's going to the shop. He just went out the wrong door." Ron took another swig of his drink.

Ginny begged Luna hopefully. "You're good with... This. Can you talk with him?"

"Harry asked me that before. We all grieve differently, I found."

Hermione glimpsed over at George's seat and spotted a golden watch by the back leg. She leaned over and picked it up. "George must have dropped this. Excuse me, I'm going to return it to him before he goes too far."

"We'll see you at the Ministry tomorrow, then," Harry said.

"Bright and early," she promised, and made her way through the crowded room.

She thought of the pile of work that was waiting on her desk. When Neville told her of the celebration she was slightly reluctant to skip a night of work. While a rare few worked on the anniversary since it became a national wizarding day of remembrance, she had never missed a day.

One day, she had ran into Kingsly, and he lightly told her to take it easy. She laid the blame on Ron for mentioning her late hours - even if she did perhaps look a tad haggard. In her defense, the workload was decreasing, and she was sleeping more - and in her bed, not at her desk.

The first year after the war was hard on the trio, given their choice of careers. Ron helped with George's shop, but every other minute of his day was dedicated to being an Auror, like Harry. Hermione became a lawyer, determined to change the pro-wizard laws. She wanted equality for Muggles and magical creatures alike.

For safe keeping, Hermione put the watch in her pocket, stepping out into the drizzling rain. She wished she would have bought a jacket, knowing better than to trust London weather.

She searched for George right outside, past the terrible cigarette smoke blown her way. When didn't see him she contemplated which way she was to go. He couldn't have disapparated in front of Muggles. He had to have been somewhere nearby. She strolled two blocks to her left, but she didn't meet him, and the rain was steadily falling harder.

Hermione was a little more than damp by the time she came to the pub, and was disappointed to see that Neville, Luna, Harry and Ginny had left, leaving Ron alone with a tankard of Butterbeer. He silently pulled out a seat for her next to him.

"They all went home," he tiredly explained. "Waited here for you."

"Thank you, Ron."

He poured her a mug, but she waved it off. She would wait to brush the alcohol from her mouth rather than drink a pint of Butterbeer that would only leave a more undesirable taste in her mouth.

"Hermione," he croaked.

"Yes?"

"Have you forgiven me?"

She met his watery cobalt blue eyes. His ears were colored a red like radishes, chagrined by his vulnerability.

She remembered a time in the war where she had dropped an armful of Basilisk fangs to run and kiss him. She could still feel his arms encircle her, lifting her off the floor, his lips pressed hard against hers.

Hermione had been certain that they would make it. She had waited so long - seven years for it, but it wasn't what either of them hoped for. They were best friends, but they couldn't be more. They tried so hard. It had seemed perfect, two best friends, they knew everything about each other, they shared their lives, their homes, their hearts. It took Hermione a long time to figure out that there had to be more than that, that nothing could be so simple, and she greatly feared it was too late...

"I told you, there is nothing to forgive."

"All those years, being jealous of you and Harry..."

She eyed his drink suspiciously. "Is that spiked?"

The red spread to his freckled face. "No! Isn't this supposed to be a day meant for reflection?"

"Yes... But honestly, Ronald, this is what you're choosing to reflect on?"

"Better than..." There was no need for him to finish that sentence, she understood exactly what he meant.

Hermione laid her hand over his large one. She barely covered his knuckles. "Fred would've been proud of you."

"Guess I'll never know." He blinked, his hands tightening. "You'll do with walking yourself home?"

She wanted to ask him the same thing. It didn't settle well with her, how quickly George and Ron both finished their drinks. As though it would numb them. She not only felt a rush of compassion for them, but worry. "I'll be okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Can we ever be friends?"

"We have to. For them."

"Right." Slowly, he stood, and left through the front entrance.

Hermione buried her face in her hands breathing deeply before standing herself and walking out into Diagon Alley to disapparate. The door closed, and the vigorous laughter and cheers were muffled, but still very audible.

Night had descended over the cobblestone street crowded with its shops. Small red, gold, blue, and yellow fireworks popped and sparkled overhead casting a multicolor glow. As daylight approached they would fade and die, replaced by the light of the sun, and everything would go back to normal. At least for a little while, for Hermione was going to begin making the changes for wizards and witches alike that would finally mean equality in all of their lives.

"Body parts, body parts in a dish. How many organs do you wish? Thumbs, noses, eyes and tongues." Little children sung in the distance, making Hermione's stomach twist. They must have been wasting time waiting for their parents to come out of Knockturn Alley by playing a disgusting rendition of a muggle game. It was the result of purebloods attempting to adept their children to the new world. Knockturn Alley had become a wretched place not meant for children, as it was frequently attacked. Harry and Ron had spent many days there trying to quiet the hoards.

As Hermione readied to disapparate, she heard groaning, and she froze. She pulled out her wand, aiming it in front of her, frantically searching for the hurt soul. "Hello? Is someone there?"

More groaning, and it was louder. She followed the noise into the dark crevice of the Leaky Cauldron, and a clothing shop. There was a shadowed mass stirring, sniffles, and deep weeping.

"Lumos," she whispered, her wand illuminating the corner, and she sharply inhaled, watered droplets stinging the back of her throat.

In the misty spotlight was Draco Malfoy, his white blond hair drenched, his black clothes mapping the facets of his body. His right eye was swollen, his cheek and lip bloody, his knuckles cut. His wand laid feet from him, half hidden in the greater darkness, swallowing the handle. She pocketed it inside of her robe before she knelt beside him.

"Malfoy?" She held out a tentative hand before withdrawing it.

He moaned in answer, and unlike the ones he made in his childhood days, they sounded as though he was in real pain. Judging from the bruises marking his milky skin, she had to believe him.

"I'm going to disapparte you." She doubted he could hear her, but speaking to him made her feel better. Maybe it gave him comfort.

She wrapped his arm over her shoulders, her nails digging into his side, a horrible cry of pain emitting from the man she once knew.

"I'm sorry," she said as she hoisted him up. Under the extra weight her knees buckled and she dearly hoped she didn't splinch him or herself.

She spun and fell face first into her lounge.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Beads of sweat was dotting Hermione's forehead as she lifted Malfoy from her carpet, leaving behind his wet form and spots of his blood. She dropped him carefully on her couch, heaving in great gulps of breath past the stitch in her side.

She waved her wand, each of her lamps clicking on. She was left breathless once more. Malfoy looked even worse than he had by night's grace.

Taking a seat next to him, her hip touched his. She had never touched him before. Except for the time her hand met his cheek in their Third Year. It was anything but a sweet caress. He sported a bright red mark all the way down to the sanctuary of the Slytherin Dungeons.

Pressing the tip of her wand to each of his wounds she muttered healing spells. She wasn't the most adept Healer, but she was adequate, and it would do. It did for Harry and Ron when they searched for the Horcruxes. That was so long ago... So much had changed, and for the better. Perhaps the same could be said about the man before her.

She removed his shoes and socks to make him more comfortable, and moved her wand from the top of his head to his toes, drying him. His otherwise nice clothes were torn and dirtied, but it would have to do, she wasn't about to dress him, even if she did have something he could wear, which she didn't.

From her hallway closet she took out a thick blanket, laying it over him. He still did not wake up. She wondered how long it would be, and if she should stay close by him for the night. She took out another blanket, and like her late cat Crookshanks, she curled up in a recliner in the corner.

Hermione gazed at Malfoy for a long time. She observed how light his hair was, like tangible moonlight and how nice it looked when it wasn't slicked back to accentuate the pointed facets of his face. He was peaceful as he slept, less harming than he was when he was awake. She let her mind wander to ideals of him being good, no longer the selfish, egotistical bully he was in school. It was possible, for people changed when they grew older. And it was a nice thought that she comforted herself with until sleep overcame her.

Shortly after the sun rose, Hermione stirred. Her bones stiff from her unusual sleeping position she stretched them out. Seeing that Malfoy was still in his dreams, she shuffled to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee, snapping the red button down, the dropping becoming a pour.

She then returned to the lounge and sat on the edge of the couch. A strand of his hair had fallen and swept over his brow. She raised her hand over it, and doubtfully she ran her forefinger over the strand, feeling its softness before curling it behind his ear. It was a consolatory act, and she only knew that she felt empathy for him, she felt her maternal side crying to help him, regardless of who he was.

Malfoy moaned and she took her hand back in time that he opened his gray eyes, blinking before apparently deciding what he saw was indeed real. "Granger," he drawled in question. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Healing you," she answered tenderly, hoping to diffuse the anger in his timbre. "I found you outside the Leaky Cauldron. What happened?"

"None of your business," he retorted rudely as he pushed her aside, sitting up checking himself.

"How did you become hurt?" She was afraid she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from him. She wanted to know for certain, and once she knew, she could offer her services. She wanted to help him for no other reason than she could make a extraordinary difference with the person who would be able to make an impression on everyone.

"What do you think? I was in a fight."

She decided to ignore his brashness. She would never expect less from him. "What were you thinking," she sighed. "Do you know what's happening to purebloods these days?"

"I'm a pureblood, of course I know! Damn it, Granger, you were a lot smarter in school."

She scowled. "You have a poor way of thanking someone."

"What do you call it, eh? Taking an old enemy to your house to _fix_? And for your information, no one asked you to help me." He patted his hips and chest. "Where's my wand? What did you do with it?"

"You lost it in your fight."

"I know you have it, Granger. Give it back."

"Why not try asking nicely, for once."

"What the bloody well for? It's my wand! I could have you arrested for stealing."

"Helping!" She corrected.

"If you have my wand then it's stealing, Granger. You're a lawyer, don't you know you're own laws?"

"_If_. Exactly. You don't know that I have it."

His face became red, his hands balling into fists at his side. She wondered if he would hit her. She had hit him before, she wouldn't put it past him, but Malfoy wasn't entirely dense. She had two wands, he had none, and while he wasn't beyond fighting like a Muggle, she wasn't beyond cursing him, and they both knew that she had the upper hand.

"If I give you your wand, are you going to hex me," she asked.

"Potty would shut me in Azkaban - and trust me little mudblood, you are not worth wasting time on. I feel myself soiling as we speak."

Hermione withdrew his wand from her back pocket, and handed it to him. Granted that for a split second she thought of cursing him to tomorrow. "If you are alright now, Malfoy, please see yourself out."

"Gladly!" He snatched his wand from her, and hobbled straight to the door, slamming it hard enough to make the window panes tremble.

She was foolish for thinking that it was possible for him to have changed. Maybe Ron was right, and there were some people that never did.

Her eyes found the red clumps in her carpet where his blood had thickened and dried. When she stood to clean it, there was a knock. She took a step to answer it, but it opened and he stood there, his eyes downward, as if he was... Ashamed.

"Thank... You."

"What?" She must've heard that wrong. Malfoy didn't thank her, he was incapable of such a polite act, or any polite act for that matter.

"I said, thank you. For... Everything." He raised his head, as if reaching the decision to be pompous once more. "I will not say it ever again, you have my word. I don't want your help. If you see me lying about somewhere, leave me to die."

"I wouldn't dream of helping you again," she said, but not at all as cold as she was meaning to sound.

Before she could gather coherent thoughts to why he said thank you, he left once more.

Her head was spinning, unable to wrap itself around the bizarre events that had just occurred. She had found Malfoy hurt, took him home and healed him before he walked out like a tempered child. That she could comprehend, but him thanking her? That was surreal, and very un-Malfoy-like. Perhaps... He had grown up.

She smiled to herself, and pointed her wand at the carpet. That was the last time she'd have to deal with Draco Malfoy, and life could go on as normal.

At least... So she thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Hermione attempted to cast Malfoy out of her mind. It was a hard thing to do, for his face seemed to be stitched to the front of her brain. She couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking when he came back. Unfortunately, it was one of the problems she hated. It was something a book could not tell her.

The house was scrubbed spotless. The area in which Malfoy was took no time to clean, but she wanted to keep occupied. She would save seeing George for last. It was not as if his shop closed anytime soon.

When she had finished the chores she set for herself, she took the Floo Network. Hermione hated it, the ashes in her hair, and the way the spinning churned her stomach, but it was the quickest and safest way to travel in the Wizarding World, and she expertly walked out into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes expecting the usual sounds of happy children, lights flashing, and the pitched popping of mechanisms. However, it was dark and silent, and the sign on the door was turned so that "open" was read from the inside. It was a Tuesday, and early in the morning so there was no explanation of why it would be closed.

"George?" She called for him throughout the store, wandering around the vestige cases of stimulate love potions, the Muggle joke toys. As she walked to the back of the store where an iron staircase wound up the ceiling, she began to question whether George was home at all. She circled up the steps, and knocked on the cut form of a door, just like the entrance to Professor Trelawney's classroom in Hogwarts.

"George, are you here?"

"Hermione?"

She whipped around, seeing the form of her search at the bottom of the staircase. "I've been looking for you."

"I've been here."

"Why is the store closed?"

"I didn't feel like opening today."

She looked down, not wanting him to see the sympathy she felt for him. George didn't like it. He was sick of apologies. "I found your watch." She held it out to him, and although there was a surprised glint in his eyes and relief in his posture, he didn't accept it.

"It's not mine."

"It was beneath your seat when you left. It must have fallen out of your pocket. I tried finding you last night, but you disappeared."

"Disapparated, and no, it's not mine Look on the back."

She flipped the watch over, and saw the inscription. "Fred Weasley," she sighed.

"Keep it."

"What? No, George it's your brother's. I can't possibly accept it -"

"You know you're like a sister to us, Hermione. He'd want you to have something of him." He fell to the first step, his elbows propped on his knees looking clearly distressed.

Hermione sat beside him, taking his hand. "I miss him."

"The reason the shop was closed... I came home and couldn't find his watch. I looked everywhere, and everywhere I look reminds me of him. Everything we've done, we've done together. Everything around me is the result of things that we've done. We were twins. Neither of us have been without the other. No one knows what that's like. Ten years. A decade. It doesn't make the bloodiest bit of difference."

"No... I guess no one does. But... We've all lost someone we love. Every one of us that were in that war, George. We all know how that feels. I'm afraid that every one can see Thestrals, but I have hope that the generation our children will be born into, won't. Harry, Luna, Neville, all of us, really... We're used to it, but I don't want my children to be. It is the last war, George. We'll see to it."

He looked over at her, a tear falling from the crease of his eye. "You too? I mean, you lost someone you love?"

"I loved Fred, too. Lupin and Tonks and Sirius. You know that, George."

"You take it well."

"Luna takes it best."

"Luna takes everything at its best." He cracked a smile. It was nice to see, Hermione missed it. All those years of scolding him, it was hard not to feel jubilant and hopeful around them. She hated that George was lacking that.

"Lee said he'll help me and Ron with the shop, as long as he was paid... Being a painter doesn't pay well in the Muggle world either."

Hermione smiled with him. "He's talented, he'll earn fans outside of us."

"How's your case work?"

"I want to focus on the situation at hand, with the purebloods..." She decided to tell him about Malfoy. "I found Draco Malfoy last night outside of the Leaky Cauldron. He was badly hurt."

"Who was the lucky caster?"

She frowned. "It isn't funny, George. He was seriously injured. If I hadn't shown up anything could have happened to him, did you ever read of the dangers that have occurred -"

He held up a hand for her to stop. "I don't care. It was a joke - sort of. Took him to St. Mungo's, did ya?"

"No. It's always packed these days, and I didn't want to make a spectacle. I took him home."

George laughed as if it was a rather good joke, but Hermione didn't see the humor. When he saw that she wasn't joining in, his lips turned down slightly, but his eyes drew worry. "You're taking a mickey out of me, right, Hermione?"

"Of course not." She would never attempt to play a joke on George when he was feeling low, although, with the sense of humor he had in the past, he would have enjoyed it.

George was revolted and more than a little shocked. "Hermione, don't put it past him to kill you. He wanted us all dead and I'll lay down Fred's watch to say that he still does!"

She held up her hands in defense. "He was... Angry. He took his wand and left. Honestly, George, I doubt I'll ever see him again." She didn't mention Malfoy's words of thanks. It was not as though George would have believed her, and she had no basis to blame him on that.

"Here's hoping."

She hoped, too. It wasn't the nicest reunion and Malfoy wasn't the nicest person. They were enemies, she shouldn't have expected any less. She shouldn't have hoped that he would have grown up. "Shall I leave?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not now." He sat next to her. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Do you want to come by my place? You can have the guest bedroom."

"Are you sure, Hermione?"

"Yes." It wouldn't be the first time that George had stayed with her. Unable to stay above the shop that he and Fred owned, and unable to stay at his parents who kept his and Fred's room nearly identical, Hermione offered her place. She couldn't bear to see George so changed and sad.

He took her hand. "Lets stay, for a few minutes."

They sat for hours in each other's soundless and ruminative company until George stood, Hermione's hand in his own.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Hermione loved her kitchen. She loved the blue and white speckled island, the matching counters, the overly-large windows. She loved her house, and she had more appreciation for it when Malfoy was gone. It was her first thought when she entered the lounge, her eyes went straight to the couch remembering Draco Malfoy lying there hurt, and the door he ungratefully slammed. The one where he stood upon his surprising thanks.

There was no reason for her to remember him then. What happened with Malfoy was over, and she never had to think of it again. George was not like Fred, he wouldn't bring up past indiscretions on her part. Only... She didn't think of it as an indiscretion. She didn't regret what she did to save Malfoy. It didn't matter what they did to her and Harry and Ron in the past. It was in the past and things were different. The roles were changed, and she desperately wanted to save him for good.

Everyone deserved to be at peace, even scum like Malfoy. Harry had vouched for his family, saving them from going to Azkaban. It had to mean something if Harry, who hated Malfoy just as much as Malfoy hated him, did not put him away when he had the chance.

Everyone deserved a second chance. It wasn't up to Hermione to deliver it, after all, she wouldn't forget his rudeness. She wouldn't forget his last second and painful thankfulness either. For that reason, she couldn't get him out of her mind.

Hermione cooked breakfast the next morning. George remained asleep, a bottle of hangover tonic at his bedside. She didn't have the heart to wake him after the night he had. First thing that morning she sent an Owl to Ron and Seamus asking them to open the shop, to begin without him.

She finished her eggs, and was scraping the bits into the rubbage bin when George stumbled through, scratching the back of his head, yawning widely. "Mornin' Hermione," he mumbled as he collapsed on the stool at the island. "Thanks for the tonic."

"Good morning, George. My pleasure." She placed his plate in front of him, and proceeded to wash up.

Behind her she could hear the clinking of silverware, but suddenly, it stopped. She felt his eyes on her back, and she waited for his question.

"Hermione... I know you're Muggle-born and your parents believed in doing things the Muggle way, but you don't have to do that anymore... Why not do it the magical way?"

"I like doing it this way." It reminded her of where she came from. She didn't want to forget, and it kept her hands busy. It kept her from thinking of _them_. She couldn't tell George that.

"But -"

"Do you fancy juice?"

"Um, yeah, sure, thanks. But, Hermione -"

"George, I sent an owl Ron and Seamus. They're opening the store for you."

"Thanks. Her-"

"Have a good day, George." She took the papers she had piled on the corner stand, and strolled into the lounge where she traveled through the fireplace to her office, a direct link.

She dumped the documents on her cherry desk, half-covering a piece of paper already lying there.

_Hermione,_

_ Meet me in my office. It's an emergency._

_Harry_

What kind of emergency could it have been that he left her a note? Had Harry gone mental?

She went right over to Harry's office. She didn't bother with pleasantries, she didn't knock, she welcomed herself right in. Harry looked up from his desk, and stood at the danger the look on her face posed.

"How could you leave me a note like this, Harry!" She slammed it down in front of him.

"If I told you over the phone, or by Owl, you would've rushed over. It's not that big of an emergency, but I needed to tell you before you took on another case."

"Why?"

"Malfoy," he answered. "Draco Malfoy. He got into a spot of trouble. He's in Azkaban."

She couldn't imagine it. The rest of their Gryffindor mates would, but not her. She always knew that Malfoy wasn't as tough as he let on. Harry told her of the time he cried, and that proved her theory. She simply could not imagine him doing anything as an adult when he didn't have to, because back then, he was born on the wrong side, and too scared to choose the right one. "What did he do?"

"He went after a couple of blokes, one has lost a finger, the other a foot. He claims they attacked him one night, but he has no signs of trauma, and he never checked into St. Mungo's."

"He didn't lie, Harry."

"How do you know that? He has never been the most honest of prats."

"Because... I'm the one that healed him. I found him outside of the Leaky Cauldron. He was hurt very badly, and St. Mungo's is hectic and not keen on purebloods; he would have bled to death before a Healer saw him. I took him to my house. Oh, Harry, don't be angry with me." She recalled George's reaction. "I only wanted to help."

"But your house? I thought you were smarter than that!"

"Don't talk to me that way, Harry Potter. Malfoy dropped his wand in the attack. I had my wand and his, he couldn't have possibly done anything to me."

"You returned his wand."

"And he left immediately. Do you think he'd be stupid enough to hurt me in my own home? You're my best friend, you kept him out of Azkaban, and it's not safe for purebloods. He wouldn't take that chance."

Harry didn't seem pacified, but he shrugged it off, as if it were an irritating fly buzzing in his ear. "I was called into the scene, and I arrested Malfoy." He couldn't help but warrant a small smile. "He requested a lawyer."

"That's wonderful, but what does -"

"You."

She was stunned. "Me?"

"You."

"Harry..." Should she have been flattered, or was there an ulterior motive present? "This isn't my department. I work for magical creatures -"

"And you've done a lot of good for them, but you said so yourself that you wanted to branch out. Here's your chance."

"You want me to work for Malfoy?" She was in disbelief. "That's a conflict of interest."

"Only if you're interested in him." He laughed at that, but for reasons beyond her - probably shock - she didn't laugh with him.

"Hermione, you can do this. It's easy. You don't have to _prove_ that he acted out of anything but revenge. That does not get him off his charge. He may have to serve some time, but you can lessen his sentence. He'll be out in no time with you defending him."

"I have a large case load. I don't have the time -"

"You can pass that off to Hinkley. He'd be glad to take it."

Pass off work? He must have hit his head, was there another scar? Did it slip his mind who she was? "This is my career! I have a responsibility."

"It's natural for someone going into a different direction -"

"Why are you fighting for this, Harry? There must be a reason. You don't care for Malfoy and you never took an interest in my cases unless it involves you or Ron. Why him?"

His dark brows knitted together, his glasses pushed forward down his nose. "I have a good feeling about this."

There it was, his gut hunches. She knew from seven long years of battles to trust him. If he felt compelled to do something, it turned out to be the right thing to do. Other than skipping his homework to challenge Ron to a game of one-on-one Quidditch or a losing game of Chess. That was always a bad call. When they came in she was waiting for them to scold, except once when she was very tired, and she left a strict note instead.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "You can do this, Hermione."

She felt sick to her stomach. _Defend_ Malfoy? She was still reeling from him wanting her as his lawyer. If it was his way of repaying a debt he felt he owed to her, she'd rather him forget it.

Then, she said the words she was sure she was going to regret. "I'll take the case."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"You took the case?" George stared at her as if she had grown snakes from her scalp, a modern day Medusa.

Hermione reached for an apple, slicing it with the knife in hand. She knew telling George wouldn't be easy, she had been prepared for it. In retrospect, it was loads easier talking to George than it was Ron. Ron was liable to fly off the handle, losing his temper completely, and he always managed hurt her feelings. George was much gentler, aware of her facial expressions.

That wide-eyed disbelief morphed into elation, and he eased himself back in his seat at the island. That was a bad sign. "No, this is great. You could give him a longer sentence!"

"George, I will not! Malfoy has not had it easy."

"_We_ haven't had it easy, Hermione. That git had things handed to him his entire life."

"Harry gave them a second chance. So should the rest of the world," she said haughtily.

"Damn you, Granger," he said without force, "damn you and your compassionate heart."

Hermione continued chopping apples, George glaring at her back, it softening with the passing moments, a smile tugging at her lips. She couldn't be angry with George's demeanor. She was aiding someone who helped the side that killed his twin brother. She was lucky he wasn't angrier and throwing out more inane ideas than he was.

"Why do you do it the Muggle way," he asked, exasperated.

"My parents told me that not everything could be fixed by magic. That's why I couldn't shorten my teeth until Malfoy enlarged them."

"You're thanking Malfoy?"

"I'm thanking the circumstances."

"You're thanking him for being a right prat."

She smiled. "It feels better now," she said, speaking of her teeth, but when she said it she knew it meant more.

He came beside her, and with his wand set the cut apples into the dough-covered pan. "You're of age, Hermione. You don't have to listen to your parents - unless your mother is like mine."

She laughed. "I like doing things this way."

"Can you teach me how to work a knife like that? I reckon I've been doing it wrong..." He placed his hand over hers, the hilt disappearing under their grasp. She looked up to him. His lashes, tiny transparent fires over an ocean bore down on her. That fire heated her cheeks, it warmed her inexplicably.

"You won't be paid."

She was instantly brought out of her haze. "What?"

"Malfoy. He's broke. Lucius got fired from the ministry. Who wants to hire someone who worked to bring Voldemort to power - forget that he tried to murder Harry! They sold the manor and are living someplace in Newquay. Draco never did find himself work."

"How do you know this?"

"I work in a joke shop, and the Malfoy's are the biggest joke of all. Hey! Where are you going?"

She was taking her coat from the rack. "I'm going to find them. I'll make a deal with them."

"That boy tried to kill you when you were seventeen. You're insane, Granger."

"I know." She did know. Harry and Ron had been telling her that for seventeen years.

With a little help from Ron who delved into the Malfoy's records, she was able to find out where Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy lived. It was a small, but a nicely dark cottage on a hill, and it was walking distance from the ocean.

She was breathless and a tad dizzy from Floo'ing and apparting and she wanted nothing more to sit down. Knowing that ahead of time she had worn her yellow sundress and sandals. In her purse was another outfit that she would change into. She simply would pop in to a store nearby.

Hermione walked past the Malfoy's Cottage to the ocean, slipping off the sandals and dipping her feet into the lapping waves. She sighed as her toes squished through the sand, the cool salt water washing over her feet. She looked to where the clear blue sky met the deeper blue of the water and silently reprimanded herself for not bringing a book as she laid back on the warm sand, the sun heating her cheeks.

"Ms. Granger?"

Her eyes snapped open and focused on the sneering face of Lucius Malfoy, his hair straggly over his protruding cheekbones, his brows so light they blended in with his pale face to ostensibly look like he had none. She scrambled to her feet, dusting the clinging sand from her body, certain that she was missing her backside. "Mr. Malfoy," she greeted cordially, albeit her voice was several octaves higher than it usually was.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

Someone must have misplaced his manners, but if she could remember correctly, Mr. Malfoy never had them. "I'm your son's lawyer."

"He warned us about that." He waved to the cottage. "Will you come in, Ms. Granger? I would like to have a word with you."

Hermione was aware of the wand in the loop of her sundress as she walked up the sandy path with Mr. Malfoy. She learned from past experiences with them that they were not opposed to killing. Especially muggleborns like her. Although George pointed out the perilous encounter she had with Draco Malfoy years ago, she didn't forget, but she wasn't afraid. The Malfoy's wouldn't hurt someone who had sought her aid.

While his back was to her, she quickly and silently seized her wand and muttered a spell that in thanks to the wind, was lost upon the ears, and the sand fell away from her hair and backside. Regardless if the Malfoy's were poor and she was nothing but a waste of space, she would present herself accordingly. As accordingly as she could in her sundress and sandals.

Mr. Malfoy held the door open for her, inviting her into its dark quarters. She wavered outside for a moment, taking stock of the situation. It wasn't Draco Malfoy that she had to worry about, it was his father. His father murdered people, that she was positive. Yet, they needed her help, and she did have her wand. She stepped inside.

It was dark. The black drapes were drawn over the windows disallowing the sweet sunshine inside. The fireplace was lit and a few scattered candles on the ends of tables, but it only served to pull in the darkness and sadness of the area, the sparse furniture and the lack of warmth that photos brought.

Mr. Malfoy waved to a high-back leather chair, and she took a seat, feeling quite uncomfortable, but he took the identical seat in front of her, sitting perfectly upright, stiffer than her.

"Do you know why my son chose you?"

"No, sir. I do not."

"Because you're the best."

Hermione blinked, confused. Had Lucius Malfoy paid her compliment? The idea was absurd, almost more than his son apologizing for his rudeness, when he had been rude years prior without so much as feeling remorse. "Sir -"

"Granger," he interrupted calmly, but invariably. "I will make it clear that I do not approve of Draco's actions. He allowed himself to be placed in this situation beyond our advice, to be forced to seek help from a mudblood." Mr. Malfoy stood, and in the cast of light she could see his age in the lines of his eyes, stretching outward from the creases like spiderwebs; the silver glimmering in his pale hair. "No matter, you are the best. I ask that you help my son, and in return I will be at your service. I will be as the houselves - before you gave them their freedom." The latter obviously was a touchy subject.

She stood as well, smoothing her hands over her dress. "That's kind of you, Mr. Malfoy, but it's not necessary. This is Draco's debt. If anyone will compensate, it will be him."

"My son cannot pay you."

"I'm sure we will work something out."

"You're a noble girl." That didn't seem to sit well with him either as his nose pinched at the very confession. "You will release my son from Azkaban, will you not?"

"Yes, sir. I will be on my way to collect him. I thank you for your time."

"We are the ones that owe you," he said, an edge of bitterness to his tone. He thickly tapped an open newspaper on the coffee table. It showed a picture of her, hair swept at the sides to a bun at her neck, smiling kindly at the photographers, headlining the title to her upcoming book, _Postwar Effects._ "If you need anything..."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," she said in understanding., turning to leave until he touched her shoulder with the tips of his spindly fingers.

"Ms. Granger, why are you helping us?" His eyes traced her left arm to her neck. She felt exposed, her emotions shining on her skin, but she would not hide. She refused to hide.

"Because I do not hold hatred," she answered. "Good day." His fingers slipped from her shoulder as she walked out of the dour house into the blinding sun.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Since Kingsley became Minister of Magic after Voldemort's fall, Dementors no longer guarded the Wizard prison, Azkaban. There still was the tall, windowless buildings sitting on an island in the middle of a great roaring sea, but there was an absence of depression. She was eternally grateful for it, having heard tales of horror about innocent defense attorneys that had "accidentally" gotten their soul sucked out.

Under the discontent sky and along rocky roads, Hermione was led by a pudgy old man. She tasted salt in the air, her hair five times bigger being so close to the ocean. It brought sweet memories, however. She recalled relaxing on the beach with her parents on holiday. She liked the feel of the sand between her toes, the sun on her back, and her book in front of her as she listened to the crashing waves. It was nice to relive the memory as she was far from being at any such ideal place.

They approached a building, identical to all of the others, but the man tapped the door with his wand, and it swung open, calling, "visitor," in its small, dank quarters.

The flickering lights casted Malfoy in a sick glow. He did not stand from his bed to greet her; he made no move to acknowledge her. He was pretty rude for someone that was in need of help. She wanted to turn on her heel and march right out of there, but she stayed, because she was curious, because he looked sick, and because he did indeed need her.

"Malfoy?"

He grunted. That was a start.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I had the buggers knocked out of me, that's what happened. You were there, Hermione. You saw me. Now, get me out of here."

"I can't help you until I know all of the information. Start from the beginning."

"I was born a pureblood and Potter killed the Dark Lord."

She sighed, her hands on her hips. "You're not being very helpful, Malfoy."

He stood, then. "Neither are you, Granger. You're supposed to be the best lawyer? I'd have been better off with that dense Longbottom."

"He doesn't work as a defense attorney -"

"Whatever. Get out of here."

"I won't be doing a thing for you, Draco Malfoy until you tell me the whole story. If you don't start cooperating I'm leaving right now."

He laid back on the bed, his feet bouncing. "There's no story! You wouldn't understand, you're a Muggle-born."

She scoffed. "I wouldn't understand? If you've forgotten, it was us that were being hunted. Most of your family has tried to kill me and my friends." Anger boiled inside of her, a cauldron overflowing with poisonous liquid. "To think, I was starting to feel sorry for you!"

"I don't need anyone to feel sorry for me - especially a mudblood."

"Fine, Malfoy! Rot here!" She moved, her hand on the knob of the door.

"Wait! Granger, wait. I'll tell you, okay?"

She whirled around, her arms moving to cross over her chest. "That doesn't sound like an apology."

"You want an apology?"  
>"It would be nice."<p>

His cold stare fell, and he was amused. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Very much."

He sat on the bed, his elbows on his knees. "I went to the Leaky Cauldron for a pint. Was caught outside and called an ingrate. My mother and father's names were brought in. I fought and I woke up on your couch. That's all I know."

"You remembered their faces." It was a statement.

"Yes. I went after them. I admit to that."

She nodded thoughtfully. Regardless of Harry pardoning the Malfoy's, there were a lot of angry families that wanted to avenge their losses. Despite that the ex-Death Eaters had renounced their ways, had a change of heart at the last moment, they had caused too much damage to be easily ignored. Few forgave Harry for that action. Nearly everyone believed that they should have paid their dues like everybody else.

She recalled standing for their defense after the war. _"Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, you plead on behalf of Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy,"_ the man behind the large podium asked.

_"We do,_" they answered together, a unit, a couple against the crowd that begged to differ. It was only in respect to Harry, she was sure, that the Malfoy family was pardoned. Harry could hold more weight than the Minister of Magic.

"Can you get me out of this bind," Malfoy asked, breaking her train of thought.

"No."

"You can't help me," he asked, crestfallen.

"I didn't say that..."

"Well, spit it out, Granger." There was that attitude again...

"I can grant you a shorter sentence, but I'm afraid that's the best I can do."

"I'm not to blame here!"

"You cursed people, Malfoy!"

"They weren't innocent!"

"That doesn't _matter_! You should have gone straight to the Ministry and had it reported!"

"Sure, and be stuck with Potter investigating my case! I'd rather rot here!"

"That can be arranged," she threatened icily.

Childishly, he turned his face to the stone wall. Why had she ever been talked into helping him? He hadn't changed at all. It was a waste of time, being kind to him. She remembered why she avoided him so adamantly in school. Even when Harry and Ron were coerced into a fight, she mostly stayed behind whatever book she was reading, until she had to stop them from hurting Malfoy (or Malfoy hurting them).

"Those bloody lunatics deserved it."

"Yes, they did."

Shocked, he faced her.

"That doesn't give an excuse to break the law."

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You can't tell me that through all that time you spent with Weasel and Potter you didn't break your fair share of the rules. Only you were praised for it, the goody-two-shoes of Hogwarts, the bookworm, the perfect Prefect."

She could have sworn that it sounded like jealousy. "Do you have a problem, Malfoy?"

"Of course I have a problem! I'm sitting in this small, dirty cell with you!"

"You hated me because I'm a mudblood -" his stiffened in a second tone of surprise, "did you hate me for being top of our class as well?"

"Yes."

It was her turn to be dumbfounded. She was positive that Malfoy would have denied it.

"It's shameful to be beaten by a mudblood. Loads of good you do, you can't get me out of here."

She wasn't getting anywhere. "Fine. Rot here." She reached the door, the guard opening it with a loud clang. When she stepped out is when he called.

"Alright, Granger! You hear me, Granger? Alright, then. I agree. A shorter sentence."

With her back toward him, where he couldn't see it, she smiled. "It's a deal, Mr. Malfoy." She spoke to the guard, "you may release him under my name. Tell me where to sign."

"You knew you could've had me released," he yelled at her retreating back.

She took joy in his indignation, but it was Draco Malfoy, and he would somehow get even, she was sure.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

It had been a long day. Since the word had gotten out that Hermione was Malfoy's attorney, she had a mile high of papers from purebloods pleading for her help. It was exciting and overwhelming. She felt that she was making a real difference in the world. It was like the movement she made for the Houselves and the other creatures, it was a rush. She was on air and asked Ginny out for dinner. By the end she truly was exhausted, and a warm bath and a good book were calling her. At least, at first, before she heard incomprehensible yelling from out in her garden.

Quickly she made her way through to the living room, hoping George had found a station on the television. She would have forgiven him for not going to work if it meant that what she walked in on was a horrible dream, because that other voice, it couldn't be who it sounded like. It just couldn't be...

"Get out of here!"

"Oh, shove it, Weasley. Anyway, aren't you the wrong brother here? Where's the Weasel King?"

"None of your business you slick-haired bast-"

"Watch the language, ginger, there's a lady present."  
>George stood at the opposite end of the room from Draco Malfoy, red in the face, and his fists balled at his sides. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease, much like he did when he was in school and taunting fellow students. Well, they weren't in school anymore, and she would not tolerate it in her house. She had the control.<p>

"What _is _going on here," she asked, strolling into the room, her hands on her hips, her pinky touching her wand.

Malfoy was slow to answer, his eyes raking the nice jeans and blouse she had changed into after work. She felt uneasy, remembering that the only thing Malfoy had seen her in were her school robes (and the dirty Muggle clothing she wore that night at Malfoy Manor when she was caught).

George took advantage of his silence. "He popped up at your front door," he explained with an air that stank of Percy.

"If you must see me, Malfoy, you may come to my office."

"You weren't there," he answered simply.

"Coming to my home was inappropriate."

"You went to mine." He grinned at her surprise. "Father told me."

For a reason unknown to her, she was irritated. She turned to George. "Why aren't you in your shop?"

"I was on my way when he showed up."

She shook her head. "How long have you been here, Malfoy?"

"No Mr.?"

She glared. "Mr. Malfoy, how long have you been inside of my home?"

"Ah, no need to be formal. We've known each other since childhood."

"Answer the question."

"Seven."

"Seven?"

"That is what I said, Granger. Or is it Ms. Granger?"

"Don't be a snide git, Malfoy," George snapped. Softer, he addressed Hermione, "last night the Exploding Snaps went off. Don't know how, but they caused loads of damage. Got the Owl this morning about it, and I was on my way when he showed up."

"What about your shop?"

"Ah, Ron's handling it."

"You can go now, George."

He pointed at Malfoy. "Is he leaving?"

"Rude to point, Weasley."

They ignored him. "Not until I find out what he wants."

"I'm not leaving you here with him."

"I'm sure we'll be okay."

"I'm not leaving, Hermione. The shop can wait until morning." He jabbed his finger at Malfoy, "I'm going to be in the next room. If I hear _anything_ I don't like, I'll apparate in here and curse your bloody head off."

Malfoy smirked. "Whatever you say, Captain One-Ear."

George withdrew his wand at the same time as Hermione, but it was her that stepped up to Malfoy, her wand at his throat. "I'd advise that you watch your language in my house, Malfoy, unless you'd like to never use your mouth again."

"Yes."

"An apology would do."

His eyes moved over her shoulder. "Sorry, Weasley."

George sounded amused. "I think Hermione has herself handled. Good luck, Malfoy." His footsteps faded down the hallway, a door closing, and Hermione stepped back.

She debated between throwing Malfoy out on his arse or serving tea. He didn't deserve her kindness, but he was her client, and she had questions to ask him. _What better place to have her old archenemy than in her home_, she thought ruefully.

"Tea, then?" She stood still for a moment, waiting for a response that never came, and she went back into her kitchen. Malfoy's steps echoed hers.

She filled the kettle with hot water and set it on the hob, spinning the dial and turned her back on it, her arms over her chest. "How will you pay me, Malfoy?"

"You accepted a case without knowing you'll be paid. What if I don't?"

"I'll curse your arse back to that Azkaban cell if you don't."

"Malfoy's repay debts, but I am afraid I don't have money for you."

"I have an idea..." She had given it thought when she was at work. It was risky and incredibly foolish, but it would work. It was likely the only chance Malfoy would have to live a normal life.

"Well? Get on with it, Granger. I don't have all day."

"Yes, you do," she pointed out.

"I don't like to waste my time."

"If you have all the time in the world -"

"Get on with it!"

She mocked his smirk. Malfoy looked as though he had been smacked by a Hippogriff again. She found, quite to her amazement, that she liked teasing him. She didn't do it often with Harry and Ron, as she felt she had to keep them in place. It was uncomfortably effortless with Malfoy.

"I have a job prospect for you."

"I'm not cleaning out dragon's manure!"

That was a funny image, and she giggled. Malfoy gave her a second look of unease. "Work as my assistant."

If it was possible, he paled.

"There are perks to the job. You will be paid by the Ministry - a portion going to me, of course - and you can use some of the money you earn to start your own business."

"My own business? What in the bloody hell am I going to do?"

She sighed. The answer there was obvious. "You're a talented man, Malfoy. You were best with charms. You can charm objects to be more comfortable, to serve dual purposes."

"Are you bonkers?"

"Self-serving tea has had to have a hefty profit from its creator."

"You are bonkers."

The kettle whistled, and she poured two cups. She took the package of tea bags from the cabinet and let them soak in the water.

"Why are you acting like a Muggle?" He sounded exasperated.

She set his cup in front of him, her hand on the saucer. "It reminds me where I come from. Harry takes the bus."

He smirked, removing her hand with the tips of his fingers. Like a hot mark, it left a sleepy and exciting tingle where he touched. "I expect that lunacy out of Potter. That scar must've effected his brain." Quieter, "why didn't you marry Potter?"

Hermione took a seat across from him, tracing the flower on her saucer. "Harry's like my brother."

"How about Weasley, then?"

"In what book does it say you have to marry your best friend?"

"You tell me. You've read more books." He sipped his tea and turned up his nose, pushing the cup away rudely. "Listen, Granger, if I was going to marry someone, they better be my best friend."

"Then you'd be marrying Theodore Nott."

He glared. "So it's Potter and Weasley? I thought those wankers were too close..."

She stood abruptly. She wouldn't hear more disparaging remarks about her best friends, much less from their old enemy. "You've overstayed your welcome, Malfoy. Please see yourself to the door."

Slowly, he followed suit. "You never cease to surprise me." His gray eyes held hers. "Everyone these days would see that I left. No one would serve me tea. You're different, Granger. Always have been. Those boys of yours didn't deserve you."

Stunned, she watched him leave.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Hermione. Hermione. Wake up."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as the dreams faded and real light shone. She rubbed them sleepily and blinked up at George, shaved and dressed for the day. It was never a question anymore if he'd be there when she woke, because he appeared to have been moving in, the wardrobe in the guest bedroom holding most of his clothes, and the guest bathroom held all of his toiletries.

"You may want to invest in a new alarm. Yours is broken."

The blankets flew off of her as she jumped from her bed, checking her small box of an alarm, the luminous numbers gone from its screen. "Oh no! I'm late!"

"Not by much. It should've beeped three minutes ago."

"Thank you, George."

His eyes were averted from her, staring down at the floor in interest of its wood. "Erm, Hermione. Clothes."

She looked down seeing that she wore Ron's old boxer shorts and a shirt that she bought in France. She squeaked and seized her blanket up in front of her. She felt like she was on fire from embarrassment. "Sorry!"

"No need," he chortled as he stepped out, making her delve into deeper crimson.

Dressed properly with her briefcase in hand she rushed into the kitchen. Three minutes was three minutes, and she was never late to work. She nearly ran into George, stopping herself short as he offered her a mug of coffee, a top placed on it so it could go with her. She was overwhelmed with appreciation.

"You're right on time, Hermione," he said, shrugging his own work robes on.

"Thank you." Still, she hurried into the lounge and into the fireplace, into the bright Atrium, into the flying lift and into her office, where Malfoy was sitting on her desk. He swung his feet, her paperweight being tossed from one hand to the other.

It was a surge of irritation. She feared that she'd be late for work, she blurred through her whole morning, and there was the object of her despise sitting on her desk. Suddenly, she wasn't in the mood for games, and she was regretting giving him the job. She could've done it as a favor to Harry, she didn't need to insist on being paid. Perhaps it was all a bad idea.

"Get off my desk, Malfoy," she panted.

"What did you do? Run here?"

"Off my desk."

He slid off.

"Put the paperweight where you found it." She set her briefcase by her chair, watching him out of the corner of her eye to be sure that he did as she said.

"You call this a paperweight? It's a painted rock."

She snatched it from him, his fingers grazing her palm. It tingled again. She concentrated on the paperweight. It was indeed a rock, it came from the Burrow, in the garden of the Weasley's. Teddy had found it, and Hermione and Harry decided to teach him to play with Muggle paints. It was a mess of colors, not attractive at all, and she loved it.

"See those papers? They're prospective clients. Go through them and place them in order from dire need to pass."

He groaned, and waved his wand at the papers, it following behind him to his desk in the corner.

Hermione attended her scheduled meetings, she wrote two chapters of her book; Malfoy made marks on the documents. The hours flew by quickly. She hardly noticed that it was twelve, and time for lunch.

Ginny knocked on her door, her cheeks red from being windswept on her practice run, but her hair was tight in a neat ponytail. "Hi, Hermione. Are you ready?" She glanced in the corner, and double-backed when she noticed who was there. "Malfoy..."

"Hello, Weaslette."

"What's he doing here," she asked Hermione unmannerly.

"I gave him a job."

"I don't think that was wise."

"I'm sitting right here, Weaslette."

"I think it was a nice idea," said a serene voice, and Luna walked in. She was fingering her necklace, a bronzed animal nail, peering curiously at Malfoy. "It could be fun. Hermione was an advocate of interhouse community, after all. Dumbledore would be pleased. Or perplexed."

Hermione knew she was right, Dumbledore would have been pleasantly astonished, but at the same time, he would've been sad about the turn the purebloods was forced to take. If it wasn't for the hatred that was rising in their world, Malfoy wouldn't have been there.

"Would you like to join us for lunch, Draco," Luna asked.

Ginny looked at Hermione horrified. Hermione looked helplessly at Malfoy, begging him with her eyes not to come. He wasn't paying her mind, however, all of his attention was on the peculiar girl that addressed him by his first name.

"No, I have work here to do."

"If you wish," she shrugged.

There was a quaint Muggle coffee shop down the street from the Ministry. It held dark woods, original mediocre paintings and the strong scent of liquid awareness. They each ordered from the old-fashioned cash register and soon had their drinks. The concoction steamed heavily from the ceramic mug, promising a day full of accomplishments. They took a corner in front of the window, the sun shining on them, Ginny's hair aflame, and Luna's blue eyes like the clearest ocean on a clear day.

"Hermione, I have a favor to ask you," Ginny began. "I know you think you're doing George a favor by him living with you -"

"Wait," Hermione said. "I never asked George to live with me. He sort of... Moved in on his own. He doesn't like being alone. I don't see the harm in him staying with me."

"He can stay with mum and dad. They offered. Mum told him she'd put his room back to the way it was."

"If that's what George wants..."

"He says he prefers living with you."

"What are you getting at, Ginny?"

"Think of how Ron's handling this."

"Ron?" She thought that Ginny would say that she didn't want her brother dependent on her, but then again, it wasn't like George to be dependent on anyone. He always did his own thing - granted his escapades were usually shared with his twin. They made their own world, told each other everything, and if one was in detention, the other was too. You never saw one without the other, much like Harry and Ron.

"Ron isn't over you, Hermione, and you're shacking up with his brother!"

"I'm not shacking up with George," Hermione hissed. She didn't want anyone to think that there was anything between her and George. "I'm being his friend. Only his friend, Ginny."

Luna was staring out of the window, her eyes entranced by the mundane things she saw. "It's a funny thing, that great things can be built on friendship." She beamed at her, "it's how you and Ron started, isn't it?"

Ginny shook her head, not liking the idea. "Please, Hermione. Talk to George."

She felt defeated. "I promise."

Luna's eyes had returned to the window. "You know, you and Draco make a cute couple, Hermione. He's different around you. Better. Happier. He didn't smile like that in school."

Hermione and Ginny were used to Luna's airy comments, but for the first time in years, they were stunned, as if Luna had nonchalantly casted a hex at them. Luna didn't notice, and they gathered themselves.

Above Luna's head was a round antique clock. "I should leave," Hermione said reaching into her bag and placing a handful of pounds on the table. She always kept some Muggle money on her, just in case.

"You'll talk to George," Ginny reminded eagerly.

"Yes." She didn't want to. She almost rather join the Holyhead Harpies and face her worst fear of flying. Almost...

Hermione walked into the office, and saw on her desk the pile of documents. In front of them, sitting in her chair, was Malfoy, his black leather shoes resting on the corner. He looked quite pleased with himself, but she saw a glint in his eye, that he was upset. That didn't stop her from raising her wand that caused his feet to be pushed off the desk with such force that he spun in the chair.

"Get up, Mr. Malfoy. _Never_ go behind my desk."

He groaned and stood. "If you're done with me, can I go home? I've been bored stiff here."

She inspected the papers, thumbing her way through the first handful. "All of these are approved. You weren't supposed to do that. Didn't you read through any of them?"

"Of course I did, _Ms._ Granger."

She ignored his condescending tone. "I cannot possibly take on every one of these cases."

"You have to."

She collapsed in the chair, rubbing her temples. Why did she hire Malfoy again? "I can't do that."

"No, you can't but you can't expect me to choose."

"It's your job."

"All of them are purebloods."

She understood. Malfoy was too close to the situation but that didn't stop the tired words from her mouth. "You are the worst employee."

He exhaled a gust and picked the top paper of the pile. He placed it before her. "This one then. The man has a daughter that is being cursed at Hogwarts."

Her gut wrenched at the thought of the hatred being passed on. She thought of how Malfoy took on the conduct of his father to earn approval. She never believed that he would have been what he was otherwise, he was a boy that strived for a place of belonging. Little did he know that it was what Muggle-borns wanted to begin with.

"That's a good decision. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy." She began placing a handful of papers into her briefcase. "You may go now."

"I'll walk you to the fireplace."

"... Thank you," she said awkwardly.

They did not speak in the hallway, or the lift, or all the way across the Atrium. They were silent in their steps, moving past the people that gave second glances to the odd couple. He stopped at the fireplace, leaning his arm against the bricks.

"Thank you," she reiterated and turned into the hearth, swimming in dancing flames.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Hermione came home to the scent of warm and welcoming food. It made her mouth water, and she quickly dropped her briefcase and went to the kitchen where George was setting the silverware. She saw a meal on the table of roast chicken, potatoes, and corn and Butterbeer frothing in the icy mugs.

"This looks amazing," she said appreciatively.

"I got home early. The shop's fine. There's little damage and it was put right in five point three seconds."

"That's great."

He held out her chair, and sat across from her, laying a napkin in his lap. It occurred to her then, in one defining moment. They were like a married couple. She paused as she came to that horrifying fact, remembering Ginny's words. Could she be right? Was George living with her the best choice for him?

"Hermione?"

Her fork hovered in midair, and she placed it back down. "George... Ginny asked me to talk with you -"

"About staying here. Yeah. I know. She talked to me too."

Without knowing why, she inhaled deeply. "What would you like to do?"

"This is your home, Hermione."

"If you need – _want_ to stay..."

"I'll leave if you want." His eyes were guarded, preparing for the loss before it struck.

"George, no," she said quickly, "you can stay here as long as you'd like."

"You're not feeling sorry for me, are you?"

"No."

He smiled weakly. "Not sure if I want that."

She furrowed her brows for a second before figuring that he was joking. He had that spark his eye, the old one that defined that he was guilty of something. She didn't ask, for she missed that spark too much, and no matter what he did, she'd let him by with it.

"What's the verdict, Hermione?"

"Stay as long as you want."

"Thanks. Least you could do, after all, I cooked you this delicious meal without magic."

"You did not cook this without magic," she stated. While George appreciated Muggle ways, he wouldn't go through all of the work of cooking a meal the Muggle way.

"No, but it sure did take a lot of effort," he jest.

She didn't comment, wondering how long George would stay with her, and what his reasons were. She had very little facts, except... She _liked _George living with her. She felt less lonely.

Hermione had eleven years of being alone. Before she got her letter to Hogwarts her classmates wanted nothing to do with someone as "snotty" as her. Harry and Ron were her first friends, and she never wanted to be so alone again as she was without them. That was why she spent as much time at The Burrow as she had growing up. She liked the big family, and she liked the company of kind people. She never told Harry and Ron why she wanted to be their friends as badly as she had. They were tolerant of her, and she wanted to belong.

"A woman came into the shop this morning," George began his shop story, and ended it with, "told her that her prankster son was meant for great things - to look at me! She threw a book at me" he laughed with Hermione.

"You have books?"

"Haven't been in for a while, have you? Yes, we have books, Hermione. Muggle prankster books. It sells better now."

She flushed. "Surely you know why."

"All I know is they're selling. It's all I care about."

"George, it's pranks against purebloods!"

"Think you're going overboard with this, Hermione?" She gaped, and he continued quickly, "I keep up with the Daily Prophet, I read what goes on, but I don't think Wizards would stoop to Muggle tricks."

"Stoop?"

"Hermione -"

'"Why not? They wouldn't suspect it! Purebloods know very little about Muggle life. If they didn't, there wouldn't be a Muggle Studies in Hogwarts now, would there?"

He shook his head sadly. "You think too much."

She picked up the empty dishes to put in the sink when he stopped her, hands outstretched to take them from her. "I'll do it. Take a bath or work on that book of yours. How's it coming along?"

"I'm nearly done."

"If you need any help... Go to Percy." He winked at her.

Yes, a bath was in order. Above the bubbles she set a foot of parchment and a bewitched quill. She spoke and it wrote. There was no reason she couldn't have a relaxing soak and work on her book at the same time. In fact, many times she had done her work in the bath. Once, in secret, she told Ron to do the same, but he scoffed at the notion of it. She thought then that perhaps it was because he was a boy, but older and looking back she thought differently. Ron wouldn't have done his homework in any circumstance.

Hermione spoke the last word of the last chapter when she heard George calling for her. Muffled and distant, but her name in worry. She leapt out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel. She padded barefoot, dripping droplets of soapy water to the kitchen.

George sat at the island counter holding a creased bit of parchment in his hand. "You've done it this time, Hermione," he said in mock disappointment.

She snatched the parchment from him, it drawing the water from her hands. Written in large, messy red lettering was, "stop writing. Or else."

"Or else he's going to send a Howler next? Not very scary is it? Mum is scarier than this."

Hermione shook her head. "Give this to Harry, will you? Best to put it on file."

"Want to leave? We could stay at my shop."

She sighed impatiently. "I'm writing about a delicate matter in the Wizarding community, with opposing arguments people are bound to react harshly. There's a statistic of -"

He waved his hand for her to stop with a fear of a long lecture. "I get it."

"I doubt anything will come of this letter. Honestly, it shows that I'm doing my job well."

"Because you're making a mickey out of Muggle-borns?"

"Obviously if this person is threatening me to stop writing this book that means I'm influential enough to change minds. I can make a difference and change his or her life. That scares him or her." She smiled proudly.

Lightly, George laughed. "I'll set up extra protection, just in case."

"Thanks, George." She refolded the note, preparing for her owl to deliver it to Harry. Once she dried it first.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"You shouldn't be taking this lightly! You don't know who wrote that note Hermione. It isn't only purebloods that are dangerous, you know!"

"I do know that, Ronald!"

Hermione had been arguing with Ron via Muggle mobiles all morning, and there wasn't a second that she wasn't regretting suggesting the quick devices or teaching him how to use them. She placed him on speaker as she brushed her hair and teeth and as she dressed. He ranted on and on, and through long needed breaths she'd tell him what she thought of his suggestions. He was behaving as if she hadn't fought Death Eaters alongside him since they were children.

"This is Rita Skeeter all over again," he complained loudly.

She remembered the horrid journalist Rita Skeeter, her peacock-like clothes, her pen, and the skittering way she walked. Like a bug, like her Animagi.

"Skeeter didn't send along threatening messages."

"Exactly."

"Oh, Ron, you make no sense. I took care of her." Indeed she did. Skeeter was taken out of the gossip column and was writing strictly news, her worst nightmare for she had to stick to the facts that she was given. No more compiling her own.

"Hermione -"

"I must go to work and so do you." She hung up, hoping that Harry could keep him busy enough that he wouldn't stop by her office to harass her more, but she was terribly let down. It was too bad, it was nearing the end of the day, she thought that she was home free.

While Malfoy thumbed through a second, but smaller, pile of papers, and she sat behind her desk editing the last chapter Ron stormed through her door. Startled, she spilled her bottle of ink, and Malfoy cursed as he scattered the approvals to the floor and under furniture.

"Ron, what are you doing?"

"You need protection, Hermione!"

She groaned, feeling the drying ink on her hands. She got out her wand to clean the papers, but he pushed her wrist down. "Ron!"

"Please," he begged, his hands flat on her desk, ignoring the ink that was inching towards his fingertips. "We can set up a safe house for you."

"It's natural to get mail such as that -"

"Stop with that rubbish! This is serious."

"You're making too much of this."

"Take the precaution."

"I did, I sent the note to Harry."

"Harry agrees with _me._"

She straightened and turned up her nose. It was nothing to match his height, but she wasn't going to back down. She never had before, and it was a low blow, because Harry and Ron naturally took each other's sides. They were best friends, closer than she was with either of them. Some nights, it saddened her, but she loved them, and she knew they loved her. That was why Ron was angry, because he was worried, but he had to learn that his temperament wouldn't get him his way. "Get out of my office."

"Not until you agree."

"I'd hate to call security on you, Ron. You're an Auror. It'd be awfully embarrassing. Imagine the marks you'd receive."

In the corner of the room, Malfoy snickered and Ron rounded on him. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"Who got your wand in a knot, Weasley?"

Hermione had to lunge across her desk to stop Ron from cursing Malfoy. She grabbed his wand-arm, and pressed her hand to his chest, pushing him backwards - or at least she tried to. He stood there solidly, refusing to move, but he didn't take any further steps forward. "Stop it," she ordered.

Ron pointed his finger at his old enemy. "How could you let Harry talk you into that?"

"I thought you were praising Harry."

He didn't respond to that. "Don't be stupid -"

"I'm not stupid, Ronald." Another low blow, that was.

"Then let us protect you."

"I don't need protection!"

"Do it for them -"

"Don't you bring them into this, Ronald Weasley!"

"You're mad, that's what you are!"

"Yes," she said, softly. "I'm a nightmare, aren't I?" It was one of the first judgments that he made about her, that she was a nightmare, that she was mad, that she was an annoying bookworm. And, maybe he was right.

Ron stormed out the way he came, slamming the door so hard and childishly that he shook her paintings on the wall. The past attorneys cried in their frames, gripping the sides to stay intact.

"That was unbearably rude," Jody McGee cried.

"Yes, indeed!" Another said, Michael Burt.

Hermione tapped her wand on her would-be-ruined work, the bottle drinking the ink in revealing the chapter of her book. When it was good as new the bottle tipped right side up. She touched the words, causing a black streak, a smudge on her work. Her hands were still wet.

Slowly, carefully, Malfoy approached her. He glanced at her desk and tapped his wand, the smudge disappearing. He then took her hands in his, holding her palms up.

"Do you trust me?"

She looked up, and slowly, carefully, nodded.

He pointed his wand at her hands. She never thought she'd see the day that she would allow Malfoy to point a wand at her. "Tergeo," he cast. The ink vanished, leaving her milky white skin. "Good as new," he muttered, his thumb running the length of her pinky.

She never expected such kindness and gentleness from someone who hated her so much. That was why she was waiting with bated breath for what he would say or do next. Hermione didn't dare move, she was too curious, and she liked the feel of her hands in his. They were soft, his fingers long, but his arms were strong. He was handsome.

"Why are you helping us, Granger? You were treated horribly because of your blood, and now you're helping?"

"I believe in the good of people. Even the good in you, Malfoy."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I believe that under your swaggering arrogance there is a kind soul." She wanted to smile, but it wasn't something to smile about. It was true and she meant it, and he still had not released her hands.

"What gives you that idea? The Dark Mark on my arm? The mark on yours? Yes, I know about that."

She didn't stagger. "You didn't give my name when we were captured by the Snatchers."

"I didn't save you either," he reminded, his gaze on her sleeve-covered arm. "May I?" He stroked her arm, pushing up her sleeve. Each letter of her scar was revealed to him. D... O... O... L... B... D... U... M.

_Mudblood_.

"Hermione," he breathed.

"Draco..."

His fingers trailed down, tracing the damaged flesh. He traced the veins in her wrist, and the lines in her palm. It sent chills through her, and she was frozen as he brought her palm to his lips, and her eyelids fluttered close. He kissed her wrist, and each jagged letter to her elbow. His lips were purposeful in their dictation to the flight of her heart. It moved fast and hard in her chest. Then his cheek was against hers, his quickened and hot breath in her ear. "Hermione, I'm sorry."

She couldn't have spoke if she wanted to. This boy, it was the boy that watched the word being seared into her arm, he sent the killing curse after her, he had been more than a bully, he had been her demise. Yet, there he was, his mouth that had thrown cruel epithets at her drawing closer to hers. She could smell him. He smelled of summer air and books, and she lost her senses in that moment.

Draco brushed her lips with his, a butterfly touch. He held her cheek, deepening the kiss, and she gave in to him. She felt the nape of his neck, and ran her fingers through his baby-soft hair. On his tongue was a taste of sharpness like alcohol and subtle and refreshing mint toothpaste.

As he backed away, she smelled ink. Ron had came in and she spilled her ink bottle, she suddenly remembered. Ron. Harry. Malfoy. Horrified, she touched her lips. "Oh... No. Oh no."

"Granger."

"Oh no." She covered her mouth. "No."

He took her hand, but she snatched it away. For a split second, he looked hurt, but it was quickly masked.

"How could you kiss me," she asked in a breathless tone.

"How could I not?"

"That was wrong. You're my subordinate. I'm your attorney. You're Malfoy!"

"Funny how you don't mention that I tried to kill you once." Briefly he pulled up his sleeve and showed the Dark Mark, on the same arm and in the exact spot where her scar was.

She blushed, and let her hair curtain her face as she fumbled around, looking for her briefcase. "Yes, yes, that was - um, a long time ago, and I think that you being a Malfoy was implied. Where is my briefcase? Have you seen it?"

"Don't you talk about my family, Granger - and no, I haven't seen it. For Merlin's sakes, will you look at me?"

"No, you mustn't do that again. Hear me, Malfoy?"

Roughly, he pulled on her arm, forcing her to face him. He took her chin between his forefinger and thumb, tipping her face up. "Look at me, Hermione. I do plan on doing that again. Many more times."

She was stunned. "What is wrong with you?"

He sniggered. "You know. You're working for the purebloods, right? Work with me. We'll show all of them how it can work."

"Are you under a curse?"

"You want to change the world and I can help you do that."

"Why would you suddenly care about the world, Malfoy?"

"Two reasons that will go unsaid. Frankly, Granger, you changed me."

"No... I didn't. You were changed before I found you."

"Was I? Do you know what it takes to be a good Death Eater?"

"To be able to kill and follow orders."

"What does it take to kill?"

"Emotionless."

"That's right. I can cut myself off from my emotions. You bring them out of me. You see me, past the tattoo and deaths you know I've caused -"

"Please, don't."

"I can see past your scars." He grazed the scar on her neck with his eyes. "You know damn well I'm not under a curse. I had to act my part well, Hermione, to protect my family and myself. I never was going to kill you. If I wanted to, trust me, I wouldn't have missed." He let her go, and he turned, and handed her her briefcase. "I'll see you tomorrow, eh?"

The door closed and she stood alone in the room with her muddled thoughts, clean hands, and wet lips.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Hermione stepped out of the hearth and without brushing off the ashes, she fell on her couch. It had been a long day, and she could still feel Malfoy's lips on hers, her lips replaying the memory over and over. As her brain cleared she couldn't believe that she didn't do anything. She should have hexed him. Anything.

With a curious device in hand, George came into the lounge. He brightly smiled and sat next to her. He handed her the tiny box.

"Touch the lid," he advised.

"Last time I touched one of your experiments, I was punched in the eye." She walked around with a black eye and bad feelings toward him for a good deal of that day.

"I gave you salve for that. Go on. Give it a go."

She kept her face away from the box, as if it would explode. It very well could. Ginny had said that she heard explosions from his room growing up, and if she needed to state once more, there was the incident with being clouted.

He took it from her. "It won't sock you." He pressed the checkered lid, and out popped a stuffed and brightly colored scarlet phoenix. From inside out it sung a Siren's song that didn't fill her with sorrow like Dumbleodre's, but with joy. It erased her worries and concerns magically. Suddenly, she wasn't thinking about Malfoy's unusual behavior.

George's face was close to hers, his shoulder using hers as a prop. He looked down at her, smiling. She couldn't help it, she beamed back. It was perfect, sitting there with him, comfortable and safe, and she was getting high off of the song, and she was noticing things. The way his crimson hair brushed his brow, how it curled in the back, and the brightness of his brown eyes. They weren't as dull as she had thought long ago. George was undeniably handsome.

"That's like a Muggle toy," she said after he closed the lid. "I had one when I was little. You cranked its handle and it would sing a tune and it would pop open a clown or a doll. I cried the first time. It pops when you least expect it."

"Sounds like a lovely toy for a child. Do you like it?"

She didn't want to hurt his feelings. "I don't think these will sell very well..."

"No, no, but it's fun. I made it for Victoire. Think she'll like it?"

That was right, his niece Victoire's second birthday was approaching. With all the haste of her cases she had nearly forgotten. "I'm certain she'll love it."

He pocketed the toy in his robes and nodded at her. "You look like you had a hard day."

The kiss came flooding back to her. "You have no idea," she muttered.

"Should I open the box again?"

"Didn't you learn anything from Pandora," she joked.

"Who's Pandora?"

"It's a Greek tale," she yawned. "A woman's curiosity causes her to open a box of secrets. It reveals the whole world to her. She saw everything, and she died from grief."

"She only saw the bad then?"

"The bad outweighed the good."

"If you're the one who sees the cauldron half empty."

She noted, "you can be quite insightful, George."

"I think you do see the cauldron half empty."

"That's not true. Besides, what's inside this hypothetical cauldron?"

"There's that curiosity. Are you like Pandora? Do you want your face melted off?"

"Melted off? She didn't get her face melted off," she corrected gently.

"She didn't? Ah, that's a shame. It would've made that story more interesting."

"The story was interesting," she differed hotly.

"Can't tell. You told it."

She smacked his side, and he rolled over, laughing. He grabbed her bare waist (her blouse had ridden up) and brought her closer to him, his nose grazing her cheek. She had never been so close to George, they had kept their respective distances in the past, and so she hadn't noticed the light freckles. Unlike Ron's that were splattered, George's was neatly arranged over the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks, one escapee taking refuge near his right eye.

They suspended in their position, both of them realizing their predicament, both realizing that, yes, they had never been that close. George was relaxed, nonchalant, but Hermione was tense. It was George that was looking at her like _that._ The look that was whispering a secret to her. It whispered, "_something is going to happen now."_

George's nose moved over hers, and their lips met. It was a kiss like any other. It was tasteless, but it spoke intelligibly of other things. George put passion into it, something she didn't know he had for her. His thumb rubbed circles on her waist, right above her pants. She stood still as his lips danced on hers, inhaling his smoky and light scent.

"Now you know," he said in a feather's tone that graced her skin.

"What?" It was such an perfunctory question, but she knew of no other way to state it when her mind had been reduced to the jumble it was before.

"You know, Hermione, for being the smartest Witch of your age, you are clueless. I've fancied you for ages." When she didn't respond, he resigned, "I'll leave you to your thoughts, then."

Hermione sunk into the couch, burying her face into its crevice. She was kissed twice that day. First Malfoy then George? What was her life becoming? An impossible love triangle only meant for mediocre writers?

Her head was swimming with the days events. What she needed was a good sleep. Perhaps she would wake up with some solution, but which solution she really wanted was lost on her.

She had known George since she was eleven. They were friends. She had dated his brother. She had stayed summers at his house. She was there when his twin died. How could she have not noticed any feelings that he had for her? That was an easy answer: She was too busy noticing Ron.

Malfoy, though? What was Malfoy doing kissing her? How long had he liked her? How come she didn't pay any attention to that? That was also easy to answer: They were enemies. They were on opposing sides of the war.

If anything was for certain, it was that she needed help. Or a new roommate and assistant...


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

"There's something on your mind," Harry noted.

Hermione poured and mixed the cream into her coffee, the swirl of coco-colored liquid and white sweetness hypnotizing. "It was a long night. I had a lot of paperwork." It was true she had more than plenty to do, but she was only doing it at such an ungodly hour because she couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Malfoy, felt his touch, and thought of how she could have possibly ended up in such a situation with him.

"Does this have anything to do with the new assistant?"

She smiled wearily at her oldest friend. "I don't think I can do this, Harry."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"This case... It is not ethical. Me and Mr. Malfoy share a history - a cruel and distant as it was. I should not be representing him."

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because this is your fault," she snapped. "You made sure I took this case, Harry Potter, and I intend to find out why!" She jammed her finger on the table to make her point.

Harry rubbed his eyes and guilt washed over her. Neither her or Harry had to be in the Ministry for an hour. It was six in the morning and he worked just as late as she had. She wasn't being fair.

"I'm so sorry." She plopped her elbows on the edge of the blue speckled table and buried her face in her hands.

"Hermione," he pried her hands away. "Is Malfoy being a prat?"

She sadly shook her head. If he was, how easy would it be to fire him? She wished he was being a prat, it was much simpler than this new/improved Malfoy. "Tell me why you wanted me to handle this case."

He held her hands on the table, keeping them in his firm grasp. "Malfoy asked for you."

"But you pressed."

He smiled but only just. "You haven't dated since Ron."

"Harry, are you telling me that you set Malfoy and I up?"

"It kind of came to me then, you know. It wasn't planned."

Of course it wasn't. Harry rarely planned anything of importance and somehow, it always worked out for him. Would it work out for her too?

"Why Malfoy?"

"Why would a former Death Eater ask for you as a lawyer - best lawyer or not?"

"You knew?"

"'Course I knew." He fished a handful of bills slapping them beside the saucer. "There's no such thing as a happy ending. There's always something new to fight, but don't let this be one, okay? He cares about you."

Hermione nodded numbly. For Harry to say that Malfoy cared for her... It had to be true. Harry was never Malfoy's biggest fan, and in fact, she reckoned that he didn't enjoy letting him off of his Azkaban term that he should have served after the War. That was Harry, though. He had the kindest heart she knew.

No matter. For the rest of her life she would never let Harry Potter forget that he was the reason that she ever looked twice at Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's hand was cramping from writing line after line at her desk. She wanted to quit, but she couldn't. If she stopped, people would die. She kept writing, afraid to so much as dip her quill into the bottle of ink, but the words were becoming light gray and sparse. They were incomplete, and people were suffering. She dipped her quill into the bottle, hearing the hideous screams of Wizards and Witches. She had to hurry, but she stopped in horror as when she took out the quill, it dripped of red. Blood.

A snake slithered in the corner, over the documents all declaring "approved" taped with photos of past criminals. She looked down, and her quill denigrated, her book falling to ashes. Then, there was the snake, his fangs dripping with venom. It was moving towards, opening its mouth to swallow her whole.

The brand on her arm seared with fire, the words were red and singing. She was on fire, and she fell. The last that she saw was the inside of the dark cavern of her predator, and a single tear fell from the corner of her eye, and she coughed. She coughed and choked. The snake was billowing fumes into her mouth, smothering her. It curled inside of her, settling to cease the movement of her lungs, to cook them black. She couldn't breathe and she was hot, sweaty. It was pressing down on her chest, making it harder to breathe.

_A _dream she told herself vehemently. Smoke. That was not a dream. She really couldn't breathe. Her subconscious clawed its way to her lids, wrenching them open. They stung, and her tears fell faster. Smoke surrounded her like a cloak and in the kitchen was a great fire. The flames leapt across the doorway.

She aimed her wand. "Aguamenti!" Nothing happened. It was a waterproof fire. It was no accident, the only question was who caused it. No, that wasn't the only question. Where was George?

Hermione recalled her Muggle years of preparation of school fires and dropped to the floor, crawling across the heated carpet. She heard a distant yelling, a pounding on wood.

"Hermione! Hermione!"

It was George. She sat in front of his door on her knees, pulling down her sleeve and covering her hand to attempt to open the door. It was locked. "Alohomora," she chanted. Still, it did not turn.

"George," she called.

"Hermione!"

"The fire, it doesn't react to water."

"Thanks for that information, _Professor_, but if you don't mind, do something! Get me out of here!"

She couldn't use a blasting spell in that small of a space. "Defodio," she told him. "Use it on the door. It'll cause holes. You can climb out."

"Defodio. Defodio. Defodio." They gauged holes in the door, creating a place where he could crawl through. It was taking too long, she was becoming fogged, slow, and helpless, but she could see him, the shiny streaks on his cheeks, the dampness of the collar of his shirt that was brought over his nose.

"George!"

Hermione tried to stay, she tried to focus, but her grip was slackening and George was giving way to haze. She reached her arm through, hoping she could pull him to her. He squeezed his shoulders through and then his hips, and when he fell into the hallway, he grasped her around her shoulders pulling her up as she tried to pull him down.

"We have to stay to the floor. The smoke."

He cursed. "Come on." By her hand, he dragged her to the front door. That was locked too.

They turned to the fire. The couch was alight, but it was not that that caught their attention first. It was the part in the fire, a cloaked person standing in its ways, protected by his or her own curse.

George positioned himself in front of Hermione as they both raised their wands to the figure, and at the same time they yelled intelligible curses that caused the being to fly backwards into the flames. It covered him hungrily.

Hermione couldn't stop coughing. It was unbearable. She fell into darkness. The last thing that she knew was George falling heavily beside her.

"So, Hermione, do you still think this is a natural reaction?"

"Shut up, George," she snapped.

"Imagine the damage you could do when you finished the book!"

Those were their first words to each other, after they had been woken by Healers. Harry had walked in then to see her snide face and George looking as jokingly clever as usual, but Harry hadn't dared say a word about it. All he did say was that they identified the remains of the arsonist. His name was Dexter Colt, a Muggle-born man who had lost his whole family to Voldemort. He was angry, and he wanted revenge.

"We've been searching for him for ages," Harry told them, "but he's escaped every time. Lucky he decided to go after you, huh, Hermione?"

"Lucky?"

"Oh. Erm. Lucky isn't the right word."  
>"You have that right, Harry Potter."<p>

"I best go, eh?"  
>"Yes, that would be best."<p>

The Aurors arrived before the Muggle ambulance. It was a mess of reconfiguring memories, erasing bits of the night. Hermione felt that there were bongos playing against her skull. It was pulsing sickeningly. She could have asked a Healer for a remedy, but she was sure that it was George causing the headache.

He opened up the shop, and they ascended the stairs to his flat. It was small, one living room that was shared by a small fridge and cooker. There were two individual rooms. One she knew used to be Fred's, the one she presumed to be shut.

"There's no food here. We'll eat breakfast in the morn. You'll take the bed." He took the pillows from her, kissing the top of her head.

"George, Harry offered me a safe-house. I could take it - "

"Under the circumstances that we live, Hermione, I'm not allowed to come with you. I'm not your husband." He winked, "unless you'd like to change that, of course. Then I'd happily be Mr. Granger."

She wanted to laugh, truly, she did, but she couldn't find it in her. She was tired, and her headache increased. Rubbing her temples, she collapsed on the couch. "Do I give you these migraines?"  
>"I give you migraines?" He moved her hand, and sweetly rubbed his thumb over the sensitive part of her head. "I only meant to give them to Percy, Head Boys, Head Girls, Prefects, Filch - of course, and occasionally dad. Didn't mean to give you one."<p>

"I was Head Girl."

"Oh. Did I do this then?"

"Yes."

He kissed her brow. "I'm sorry, love."

Hermione gave in, at least for that night. Maybe it was because she was tired and she wanted comfort. Perhaps it was because she inhaled too much smoke. She leaned into his side, and allowed her head to fall onto his chest. He leaned back, taking her with him. There they were then, cuddling on the couch, like a couple. His heartbeat was like a song, his body strong and protecting, and it all was lulling her into a deep sleep.

"Hermione?"

"Mmm," she moaned.

"We're good together, aren't we? We haven't seriously maimed each other while living together. I make you laugh. Granted, you never really want to. You make me smile. We take care of each other. Right?"

"Right..."

"Ever think you will marry me?"

The tiny section of her brain that was registering the real world was appalled. She opened her mouth to tell him, but sleep took her in its warm embrace.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Hermione freshened yesterday's clothes using a nifty spell. She went into work, aching from the spring that stuck her through the cushion of the couch. It bruised her hip and she had a horrible stiff neck from her odd angle of laying half on top of George.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," she greeted, spotting the top of his head over the back of the couch. "You're here early."

"Are we not speaking of what happened?"

She felt warm. "I'd rather not..."

"That's fair," he agreed, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was because it was less than his expectations, but if she was bold, she would've questioned aloud if it was unsatisfactory. Why she troubled herself with it was of greater concern.

"I hope you don't mind, I was reading one of your books."

There in her bookshelf was a gap. "Which one?" She knew exactly which one, as she has spent painstaking hours putting each of them in order of reference and then alphabetically.

He lifted the book over his head, turning it to show her the cover briefly.

She approved. "That's a good one."

"It's alright. Mr. Boddock would've won his case months earlier if he bothered to think of using the Classification of mistreatment, 17.4B."

She paused incredulously. "You studied law?"

Without turning to her, he said lightly, "don't look so surprised there, Granger."

"Have you considered taking the board test?" She plopped down beside him.

He closed the book with care she never saw used before. "Tell me, who would want me as their lawyer?"

"I would." He didn't believe her, obviously. "No, no," she assured, "I would! You have experience with the Dark Arts, you know the way they think. You'd be valuable. I could help you."

"Why do you want to help me?"

"I think you're a good man, Malfoy. We've been over this." She took the book from him, her fingers grazing his. It sent something unfamiliar through her stomach, a swooping and dizzying feeling. "The past should be forgiven," she continued shakily, "that's what my book is about. The power struggle between bloods has ended - Malfoy!"

"What," he muttered, his head back and eyes closed, faking sleep. He popped an eye open, a smirk pulling at his thin lips.

"That's not funny. My book will be important to our world."

She expected him to argue with her plural use of their world, but his eyes were glazed over. Why did she bother? He was as bad as Harry and Ron, and it was quite a shame that they spent so many years as enemies, because frankly, they all three would have gotten along swimmingly.

There was a tug on her sleeve, Malfoy poking his little finger through a blackened hole.

"Oh no," she exclaimed. "I thought I fixed all of them!"

"No need to fret." He pointed his wand at the tear, and it raveled itself back together, as good as new.

"Thank you. I suppose I'll have to go shopping..."

"Did something happen?"

"My house caught fire last night."

He appeared sincerely alarmed. "I'm sorry to hear that, Granger..."

"Thank you..." She wiped a stray tear, searing on her heated cheeks. "I lost everything. Except my wand." _And George,_ she added silently.

"Do you have a play to stay?"

Did he really care? "Yes." She glanced at her desk, and the work that awaited her. "We best get started today." She stood and walked over to it. "Do I have any messages?"

"Forget work today." He waved his hand and followed her.

"Malfoy," she chastised. "I cannot take the day off."

"Sure you can. Walk out the door. It's easy, I'll show you -" He reached for her hand and she stepped back out of his reach.

"Malfoy!"

"You say my name with such disdain. Is it wrong that I love that so?" He didn't wait for her response, but made for her hand again and this time he was able to steal it "We'll make a day of it. It'll be fun."

"I'm not sure I'll like your idea of fun." She wrinkled her nose at the distasteful memories of him in their school days.

"You say you've forgiven me."

"I have!"

"Prove it."

And so they walked out of her office, out of the Ministry. The Autumn wind caught her hair, flying it behind her. They gray clouds rolled by, threatening rain. Malfoy took off his cloak, draping it over her shoulders. It was warm, and smelled of him, and in their strolling to the nearest clothing shop, she strolled a little closer to him.

The shop was long, moving far back, but its width made the building cramped. Malfoy sneered at the passing customers that brushed his shoulders. He moved back, as if afraid of being touched. "Good luck, Granger. I'll be over here, if you don't mind."

She shook her head, fingering through the various materials, cuts, colors and sizes. She pulled a couple out and put them back. She checked the prices in consideration. She didn't mind shopping but she was certainly not a fashion expert; she didn't know what she looked best in. The only compliments she ever received were in her Fourth Year at the Yule Ball at Hogwarts. She wore a periwinkle blue dress, she had coated her face with makeup and used a pint worth of Sleek Eazy. Her hair came undone, her makeup smeared all when she fought with Ron. That night was ruined because of him, but many things were.

Hermione felt a tap on her shoe. Bouncing off of her heel was a green ball, and a blond boy of the estimated age of seven was chasing after it. She knelt and picked it up, holding it out to the familiar child. He looked just like...

"Here you go," she offered kindly.

Not a bit shy, he took his toy. She expected a frantic mother to come forth then, but no.

"Where's your mummy?"

"Working." he threw the ball high in the air, catching it as it descended.

"Who's watching you?"

"My aunt, but she's not very good."

_Evidently_, thought Hermione searching for a woman who was searching for him. No woman appeared to have noticed she lost something - or someone. Whoever boy's parents were they were terrible judge of people to have let someone (even a sister) watch their child who did not seem to care.

"Where is your aunt at?"

He shrugged, but suddenly he lit up, and waved. "Daddy!"

She turned and saw Malfoy running towards them. No... It couldn't have been... No, of course it was possible. She was just thinking that the boy looked much like her assistant. The similarities were striking. The boy was his father when Malfoy was that age.

"Scorpius, what're you doing here?"

"Aunt Daphne dragged me."

"Where is she?"

He shrugged once more, this action causing the senior Malfoy to sigh loudly. "Ms. Granger, may I request the rest of the day off?"

"We're not at the office, so of course."

Scorpius narrowed his eyes vexatiously at her, just like his father did.

"Who is she," he asked rudely.

_Oh yes, definitely Malfoy's child!_

"Scorpius, you will have respect. This is Ms. Granger. My boss."

Scorpius inspected her in judgment. "Okay." She passed whatever test he had put her through.

"Come son, say goodbye to Ms. Granger."

"Where are we gong?"

"We're going to have dinner, and it would do you well to speak to me with more respect."

"Sorry, dad. Why doesn't Ms Granger come with us?"

Malfoy appraised her thoughtfully. "You're more than welcome to join us, Granger."

"I don't want to be a bother."

"We'd be honored."

She was hungry... And curious. "I'd love to."

Malfoy offered his arm again, and she accepted.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Malfoy lived far from human contact, past the suburban areas and into a deprecated forest on top of a steep hill. There was virtually no way for Muggles to reach it, as there were no roads, not even one made of dirt. In fact, she knew for certain that the nearest neighbors (six miles away) had no clue that the tiny house existed. She wasn't sure if any magical community could locate it. That had to be Malfoy's intentions, and it made her sad.

The house was of dark wood, shingles missing from the roof, and the yard was overgrown with weeds. Malfoy was ashamed when they approached it, his cheeks pink. His son, however, was proud and took Hermione inside at once.

"This is our lounge."

A couch, a fireplace, a bookshelf, a toy broom and a stray firecracker from George's shop in the dark corner made the lounge. A third of the room as a whole was the kitchen. It was poorer than the Weasley's, and Malfoy still would not look to her. Her sympathy grew.

"This is lovely," she told Scorpius. "It's cozy."

Scorpius ran to his pile of toys, telling her about each one. "This is a Nimbus 3000. Daddy says I can get the real thing someday!" He held a tiny model in the palm of his hand.

"Maybe," Draco reminded from the makeshift kitchen where pots were brewing themselves.

As Scorpius watched the broom glide inches above the floor, Hermione joined Malfoy. "Would you like help?"

"You're a guest, Granger. Sit down."

She paid no mind to him and opened a cabinet and began setting the table, hands full of plate and silverware. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Why do you insist on doing chores the hard way?"

"You mean the Muggle way."

"That's what I said. The hard way."

Laughing, she shook her head. "Malfoy, things in life are more than a flick of a wand."

"I know," he said so seriously that Hermione turned to see him looking at her with more feeling than she ever saw in his snotty visage. If only she could figure the man out... She wanted her life to make sense again.

He closed the space between them, his hand resting on her hip, slyly out of Scorpius' view. "I'm sorry for not telling you about my son. The situation was complicated -"

"We have a business relationship," she said before he could explain. She didn't want to know, as the line had already been blurred. She couldn't take anymore confusion. Hermione needed everything in her life to be clear. "You are my employee and client, it is none of my concern -"

"It's more than that. There were two sets of lips that day. If you hated me half as much as you did in school then you wouldn't have participated in my attempt at seducing you."

The word "seduce" coming from Malfoy's mouth made her mentally stagger. "I -" She had no excuse, nothing to defend herself with. She was vulnerable to him, and she didn't mind that as much as she should have.

"It was your concern."

"It's quite alright."

"It's not," he said indignantly. "Not when I fully intend on gaining your trust."

"I - I do not have time in my life for romance. I have an important job and ..." She was going to tell him, honestly, she was, but the words were simply not making it from her head to her mouth. That was something that had never happened to Hermione before, and it greatly unsettled her.

"Is that all you care about? Your career and the new Weasel in your life?"

"That is not true," she stated heatedly. "For your information, Malfoy, I have dear friends and a wonderful family and -"

"No boyfriend? You don't fancy me?"

That time, it was his fault. It was all his fault that she didn't tell him.

"Answer me, Ms. Granger." He approached her slowly, but deliberately. He bent his face to meet her eye to eye. "Do... You... Fancy... Me?" A long pale finger brushed her collarbone and she was swept up in warm chills, a contradictory solution of his nearness, his touch. She felt like a school girl all over again, except this wasn't her best friend.

"You're my client," she answered softly. She hadn't realized she closed her eyes, but when she opened them, Malfoy had taken several steps back. There was a drop of her stomach, a horrible feeling that clawed inside of her. A concoction of guilt and surprise. "I know now - about your son, that is. He's a sweet boy, Malfoy. You're a wonderful father."

"Thank you."

Just like that, their close encounter was dismissed.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but who is his mother?"

"Astoria Greengrass. She was my wife."

She vaguely recognized the name. A pureblood beauty in Slytherin. "What happened?"

"We divorced. She didn't want a marriage of hate. That was what drew us together, she was pureblood and I was a pureblood. We were both Slytherins. It wasn't the best foundation."

Scorpius came running over then, wanting to show "Ms. Granger" another broom that could serve better than the rest of them. He touched the tail and staggered along. It was slower than a snail. Wasn't Malfoy able to purchase one broom? Where did all of the family money go? They couldn't have spent all of it.

From the kitchen, Malfoy watched them. When he turned to tend to a cooking meal, she thought she saw a smirk. She wondered what he was thinking, but she was certain, whatever it was, it was not appropriate.

_He's my employee, _she told herself silently. _My employee. My old enemy._ But... They weren't enemies anymore, and he was handsome and kind, and she was losing her mind.

Before she went to George's she picked up food, recalling how empty his fridge had been. She attempted to balance the bags in one arm as she tried to open the door. The milk was freezing her arm, the packet of noodles on the edge, ready to fall.

The door swung forward without her volition, and so did Hermione, the food cascading out of her arms to the floor. George caught her and she flinched, hearing the cracking and sloshing.

George laughed. "You okay there?"

"Yes, but the food..."

He bent, checking each item as he put it in the bag. "Uh oh. Causality."

"What is it?"

He jest in mock sadness. "Five eggs. I'm sorry, Hermione, they didn't make it. They cracked under the pressure."

"Very funny! Help me put these away, will you?"

He placed the bag on the counter. "Where were you? I was worried."

"I had dinner at a friend's."

"Who?"

She kept her head down, knowing he'd disapprove. "Someone at work. You don't know them."

George closed the fridge, and stilled. "Hermione, did you go on a date?"

"No. I told you, it was dinner with a friend."

"Does he heave a name?"

"Why would you assume it was a man?"

"Was it a man," he questioned. He peered closer at her face, reading the level of guilt there, and was horrified. "No! Not Malfoy. Draco Malfoy?"

She didn't answer. There was no reason for her to feel ashamed, but she somehow felt she had betrayed George. "He's a kind man."

"He's a Death Eater, Hermione."

"Was," she corrected. "Harry trusts him, you should too."

"His people murdered Fred!"

She braced herself on the counter, the granite warm after the hold she had on the milk. "Dolohov caused the explosion. Malfoy was nowhere near there. You can't blame every one of Voldemort's followers for what one did. That's not fair."

"They're all murderers. Tonks and Lupin, Moody, Dobby, they killed all of them!"

"Malfoy has changed."

"Colin, Snape, my ear!"

She covered her mouth, stifling an inappropriate laugh, but as soon as George started at the sight of her curved grin, she did too. They were in fits of laughter and giggles, bent a the waist holding their knees for support. It filled the home that for too long was a place of grief.

George held her, his body shaking against hers. "Sorry, Hermione," he said lightly.

"I am, too. Next time, I'll send and Owl if I'm going to be late. It was terribly rude of me."

He stiffened. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Do you have to be friend's with Malfoy? He's not trustworthy. Seven years of torture he brought to you and Ron and Harry. His whole family was against mine and yours. How can you let go of that?"

"I appreciate the concern, George, but I can take care of myself."

"I can testify to that."

Out of his embrace, she asked, "are you hungry?"  
>"Famished."<p>

"Sit and tell me about your day. I'll cook."

He did, the atmosphere becoming warm and comforting. She stirred the stew she was making. While she had enough of stew for the rest of her life from the hunt for the Horcruxes, George loved it. His favorite was beef, carrots, peas, and an assortment of spices.

While he sat and described the shop's books, she came over with a steaming spoon that she blew on. "An opinion?"

He tasted the stew, his hand on her wrist. "Good," he said after swallowing. "Very good." His hand didn't move. His thumb traced the bone.

"George..." She warned.

He kissed her hand, and he let her go. "If this has anything to do with you serving me detention twenty-three times -"

"Twenty-three? You counted?"

"Of course I counted. Fred and I used to keep tallies on the wall by our dorm beds. We were aiming for a record. Couldn't get you to give us another detention, though. You used writing to our mother as a threat."

"It worked."

"Like a charm," he spoke softly. "The only girl to put us in our place..."

Hermione returned to the stew, staring down at its contents.

"I'm only asking that you don't fall in love with our archenemy, Hermione."

"He's no longer the enemy."

"If he's after your heart, then he's mine." He dropped the subject; back to the descriptions of the books.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Hermione's case was won. Mr. O'Donall's attackers were arrested and his daughter would be home-schooled. That was the most unfortunate. Hermione couldn't imagine being taught magic anywhere else but in that enchanted castle, and that poor girl was cheated of it.

"Cheer up," Malfoy told her over lunch.

"That little girl..."

"Loads of kids are home-schooled. Mother wanted to send me to Durmstrang. Father wanted to home-school me. I figured Hogwarts was better than being stuck at home all day."

"You lived in a mansion, Malfoy."

"The bigger the house, the more lonely it feels."

She supposed that was true. She lived in a modest house all of her life. "It's sad though..."

"Ah, it had its perks. Loads of hiding places -"

"I'm talking about the girl, Malfoy."

Malfoy didn't care. He helped himself to a scone.

"Your trial is next Thursday," she informed him.

"I'll enjoy my last days of freedom."

"Oh, don't be melodramatic. It won't be a terribly long sentence."

"How about my attackers?"

"I'll do my best to get them a life sentence," she joked.

"Good," he said seriously.

Snow fluttered outside the cafe window they were seated by. It stuck in passerby's hair, on the shoulders of their coats. It was a lovely holiday scene, like one would find inside of a snow globe. It reminded her of her childhood, of building snowmen with her father, her mother brewing hot tea inside. A roaring fireplace, a white-lit tree, peppermint sticks and popcorn strands, and a chorus of "Silent Night."

Hermione would miss her parents that year. They loved Australia so much they moved there. It was not as though she hadn't developed her own life outside of them, but it ached during the holiday seasons. She planned to visit them, but they had reservations at a skiing resort. They invited her but she wasn't going to miss a Christmas with the Weasley's. She hadn't in years. If it weren't for them and Harry, Christmas would be awfully lonesome.

"A Knut for your thoughts."

"Christmas," she answered. "What are your plans?"

"Scorpius is with his mother. She has him holidays and birthdays..."

Hermione hated the sad look on his face. She had assumed that he would spend it in some grand way. The Malfoy's were extravagant Wizards and Witches, and yet, Malfoy was spending his without his son. What kind of Christmas was that? "I'm sorry... It seems unfair. You know, I could arrange -"

"I don't need your help on this, Granger. Just keep me out of jail for my son and that will be enough."

"Before I knew you had a son, I thought you simply didn't want to go to jail."

"No one wants to go to Azkaban, Hermione," he said snidely. "I remember my father being sent to Azkaban. I was angry and upset and I didn't know what to do without his advice. I felt alone. I don't want Scorpius to have to go through that."

Minutes passed, and Hermione checked the time on her watch. She jumped out of her seat. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. I have to go."

"We don't have to be at work for another ten minutes."

"No, I suddenly remembered a gift I need to pick up. Here's for the lunch," she dropped two Galleons on the table, Malfoy calling her name at her back, each time with more irritation.

Hermione went into the ladies toilet and shut herself in a stall that was graffitied with "Jill loves Tony" and hearts. She disapparated, opening her bleary eyes to the long stretch of road that was Diagon Alley, its snow-capped shops and the towering Gringotts Bank that she had literally blasted through with a dragon. A nightmarish memory. She always hated flying, and in her life she had flown on a broom, a threstal, a Hippogriff, and a dragon.

No matter how often she disapparated she would never grow accustomed to the claustrophobic, wrenching and twisting feeling it gave. She was, however, in a hurry.

She went straight towards Broomstix, appraising the latest broom in the shop's display window, over the admiring children's heads. They were excitedly chattering.

"Look! It looks great, doesn't it?"

"It's faster than the Nimbus 2000!"

"It can swerve on a pinpoint!"

She was far from an expert on brooms, and she steadied herself to buy her first one. She greatly wished Ginny was with her. Being a professional Quidditch player, she would know everything there was needed to know.

Hermione hated feeling incompetent, but she wanted it. In all respects, it looked like a good one, shiny and sleek, and the kids were ever so happy about it. All those were good signs.

There was only the wonder of what she would get Malfoy. Without being absolutely definite, she was as convinced as she could be that she had the perfect gift.

The doorbell chimed above her as she entered. She spotted a busy and hassled shop-keeper talking a lot with his hands to a hag, but before she could make her way over -

"Hermione. What are you doing here?"

There were many times that she had been glad to see Harry, all of those times being glad to see him alive, but she desperately needed his help. "Harry! I'm glad to see you I need help picking out a child's broom - wait, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be working?"

"I'm on my break picking up gloves for Ginny. Her pair has holes in them. Not good for a professional player. So, you say you're picking up a broom? Why not Ron?"

She knew what he was thinking, and her real reason for being there was not something she was willing to share with him yet. After all, Malfoy only recently told her about Scorpious. That was just as well, it worked in her favor and she was going to let him think that her purchase was for someone else. "It's a surprise from me. Don't tell Ron, please."

He held up his hands. "All right."

That was one thing she loved about Harry. When it came to love affairs, he minded his own business. In fact, he would rather stay out of them at all cost.

He led her over to the counter, pointing at each broom display, explaining the mechanics of it, and Hermione listened with rapt attention.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

"My dear, I'm so happy you could come!" Mrs. Weasley hugged Hermione and George within moments of their arrival.

Hermione smiled kindly at her. George took her cloak, shaking off the snow they had been flecked by outside. "I haven't missed a Christmas yet. Thank you for inviting me."

She waved her hand at such nonsense. "Take off your cloak, make yourself comfortable. Ron should be here soon."

"Good," George said. "he owes me three Galleons."

The warm house smelled like chocolate chip cookies. More sweeter than that was the warmth of the love, the closeness, and the laughter. Her mouth watered and her heart grew as her and George hugged the rest of the Weasley's; Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ginny, Fleur, and little Victoire who ran into the kitchen to help her grandmother with setting the table. The rest of them were chatting, Charlie going on about the training of a particular nasty dragon, showing off his new burn on his ankle.

"It was a nasty one, it was. When the tail flew right over my head -"

"Mummy!"

Hermione spun to see in the doorway Harry, Ron and her children. Joy set her aflame. She knelt and captured them in her arms, kissing their faces. "Hugo, Rose!"

"Mum!" Hugo flinched from the affection as Rose giggled and clung to her mother's neck.

"I've missed you two so much." Tears trickled down her cheeks. "So much. Did you have fun at grandma and grandpa Granger's?"

"I miss chocolate," Hugo said.

Hermione laughed. Her parents, being the dentists they were didn't keep sweats around. "How about you, Rose?"  
>"I missed you and daddy."<p>

Over her daughter's red head she could see Ron looking uncomfortable and sad. She could understand, she felt the same. It was something Rose said before, when Ron and Hermione divorced. Every night, like a prayer or a wish on a favorite star, she would tell whoever she was with that she missed her parents. It killed Hermione to hear it. She only wanted her children's happiness, but Ginny had told her years ago, that Hermione's happiness mattered too. She had listened, but it hurt her to hear it from her daughter.

"There are cookies in the kitchen," Mrs. Weasley announced, and Rose and Hugo made a break for the source of the sugary scent, exclaiming, "Uncle George" when they spotted him, most likely sneaking a taste of the food. Hermione could imagine the kids tackling him, asking if he had any tricks to show them.

Hermione hugged Harry and Ron. "Thank you for picking them up."

Harry kissed Ginny. "Lucky kids," she flirted with her husband, "being escorted by a fine Auror."

"Who am I," Ron complained.

Ginny shrugged as an answer when an explosion rocked the house, dust drifting from the ceiling, and a moment of unusual silence in the Weasley home. Then there were happy cries from children, and a man that sounded too much like George, whooping.

"George!" Hermione bellowed into the kitchen. "Put those fireworks away right now!"

"Aw, mum!"

"No fireworks in the kitchen!"  
>Harry and Ron laughed, a laugh that choked and died in their throats at the threatening glare Hermione shot at them. Ginny continued to giggle softly. Then again, Ginny had never been stupid enough to irritate Hermione to the point of a causing a hex.<p>

They all gathered in the kitchen, Rose at Hermione's side and Hugo at Ron's. The whole family sat down for dinner when there was a knock at the nearest door. George visibly counted heads, his mouth moving, "four, five, six," as Mrs. Weasley answered.

Once more, the house was in silence.

"Draco Malfoy?"

The men stood, their hands on their wands ready to duel, but Harry alone stood without drawing his wand. He made his way through the chairs and greeted Malfoy, offering his hand.

"I apologize for my tardiness." Malfoy shook Harry's hand.

"Good to see you again, Malfoy."

Hermione spoke up. "I invited him. Remember, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Oh. Yes," Mrs. Weasley confirmed to the horrified faces around her. "You said you were inviting your assistant?" The statement formed itself into a question at the end.

"Malfoy is my assistant."

She was disappointment, "yes... Well, come in, Mr. Malfoy. Welcome. Make yourself comfortable. I'll conjure you a chair."

Malfoy walked straight to her, paying no mind to the stares that were burning bludger-sized holes into his skull. He picked up Hermione's hand and kissed her knuckles. It stole her breath, right in her lungs. She blinked, looked down shyly, and took her seat, which Malfoy held for her like a gentleman.

George, unable to help himself, ran his hand over her shoulder. It was a mark of territory, and when he sat on the other side of Rose, she pinched his neck. He cried out once.

"For Merlin's -"

Mrs. Weasley smacked his head with a spatula.

"Jeez, women, stop hitting me!"

While the children laughed, not understanding the oddity of the situation, the adult stares turned from horrified to incredulous. No one could believe what they were witnessing, except Harry. He looked pleased, as if it was what he expected to happen.

Mrs. Weasley conjured another chair and sat it at the far end, away from George and Hermione, right between Mr. Weasley and Victoire. It seemed to be the safest place for him, as the other men were back to looking upon him with deadly venom.

"Well, this is quite a surprise," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, flustered. She twisted her napkin in her hand, giving warning glares to each of her sons, a silent order to be polite.

The first few minutes of dinner was spent in hushed quiet. No one knew what to say or how to act. George, Ron, Percy, Bill and Charlie were afraid to take their sights off of Malfoy. As if he came there to murder them all. It appeared that it slipped everyone's minds that it was Hermione who had invited him, and that she spent many days alone with Malfoy and no harm had come to her.

"Why is everyone being weird," Hugo asked.

"It's because of that blond bloke over there."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "Malfoy, I'm -"

"Don't apologize, Granger. I understand."

"Ms. Granger," George corrected.

Malfoy smirked. "I thought you were friends, Weasley-number-four. Why are you calling her 'Ms.'?"

George opened his mouth, but Hermione smacked his leg.

"For Merlin's sakes, Hermione, stop hitting me!"

Hugo and Rose laughed, and Hermione worried. "We don't hit, now do we?"

They shook their heads.

"No, you throw hexes -"

"Malfoy! There are children here!"

"You wanna hear a funny story," Ron asked his children. "Mr. Malfoy here, he went to school with us. He was a git -"

"Ron!" She was exasperated, anxious, her nerves jangling, and no one seemed to care at all!

"One day he went to hex Uncle Harry behind his back and our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher turned him into a ferret! He bounced him down the hall!"

Rose, Hugo and Victoire laughed.

Malfoy sulked. "That story never gets old for you, does it, King?"

That perplexed Rose who questioned her father. "Why is Mr. Malfoy calling you a King?"

Malfoy's eyes lit. "Let me tell you that story, kid." And he did, he went into splendid detail of all the goals he let Slytherin make in a match, how he helped them win. There were parts that were exaggerated, but it kept the kids enthralled. All of their attention was on him and his story.

It occurred to her quite suddenly and surprisingly, that Malfoy wasn't just a good father for his son, he was generally good with children. They loved him and his tall tales. She couldn't help it herself, she found herself enthralled by him, too.

From then on, conversation went on as normal. There was talk of their careers, of the Quidditch matches, of jokes. Even Malfoy joined in, and he blended well. Rose pointed out that every hair color was at the table, the Weasley's with red, Harry with black, Hermione with brown, and Malfoy with blond. She was very pleased with her observation, and Hermione congratulated her for it.

"Gets that from her mother, she does," George said proudly, ruffling Rose's hair.

Malfoy stopped cutting his steak, confused. "Who's your mother," he asked the girl.

Hermione suddenly remembered, she had never told Malfoy she was a mother. In all the festivities she had completely forgotten. She should have mentioned it sooner, but Malfoy had interrupted her, and frankly, it was none of his business before... Before the kiss...

"Oh -"

"Her, silly." Rose pointed to Hermione. "She's my mum."

Malfoy looked to Hermione, shocked and... Worse. He was hurt. "You're a mother?"

"Of two," she admitted. She gestured to Hugo. "He's mine, too."

"Red hair," Malfoy muttered. "With number four?" He glared at George.

"The name's George, you effin' ferret!"

"Ron," she said quickly before Malfoy could retaliate. "Ron and I were married."

Mrs. Weasley stood haphazardly, the chair squealing loudly. She waved her wand, the dishes flying off the table, numerous heads ducking. "Bill, Charlie, I want your help with the dishes. George, Percy, take the kids outside and play." She then became distracted by a Victoire complaining that she hadn't finished eating.

Hermione motioned for Malfoy to follow her. They walked outside to the front of the house, Malfoy attempting not to step or touch any of the chickens.

She laughed.

"I don't think this is funny, Granger."

"They're just chickens, Malfoy."

"They're pecking at my trainers! Stop it! Get off!"

She pulled him from the area, near the woodshed. One chicken clucked angrily in his direction, and Malfoy drew out his wand.

"You're impossible!" She pushed his arm down. His hand clasped over hers, holding her there.

"Why didn't you tell me you had children?"

"It never came up."

"I think when I introduced you to my son would've been a brilliant time."

He was right. She hated that he was right. "...Their names are Rose and Hugo. Rose is ten, Hugo is eight, and they're perfect." She watched as a flake of snow traveled to the tip of his nose, and he brushed it away roughly.

"So you and the hero Weasel, eh? You could've thought to mention that you were married before I snogged you! That you were a Weasley! It's just like you - to keep your name!"

"I'm not married! Ron and I divorced ages ago. We didn't... Fit."

"I could've told you that. He doesn't match up to you in brains or looks -"

"Ron is smart and handsome! That wasn't the reason."

Malfoy backed down, as he always had with her, but he reached out, touching her cheek, running his cold thumb over her chilled skin. "You deserve better than him, Hermione. I want the chance to prove that to you." He leaned in, and she tilted up, and George walked out.

"Oi! Time to open presents!"

Deflated, Hermione walked back to the house. George grabbed her hand on the way up the stairs, giving one last lethal glower to Malfoy.

* * *

><p>AN: In case no one got the memo I'll place it here for good measure. I'll be in L.A. for a little over a week and thus I will not be on here. The good news is that I get the pleasure of going to the Deathly Hallows on its release date.

Everyone, have a fantastic time! It won't end when the story will live forever in our hearts. I will continue on writing here, but I love you all. Thank you so much, and we all thank Rowling for bringing us together and giving us the greatest story and friends of our lifetime.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

The Weasley's garden was lit in Muggle tiki lights that Hermione gave Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley had most fun setting them up, singing to himself as he stuck them in the ground. He did none of it by magic, instead choosing to read the directions. He called it a "funny contraption." Therefore, it took Hermione and Harry to quickly and stealthy correct the work he did so those "funny contraptions" would work. The sparking fire sent spilled color in the darkness, a beautiful light for a beautiful night.

After the everyone had left for home (Ron with her children and George cleaning up the kitchen), Malfoy and Hermione took a walk in the garden. It was nippy but Hermione set handy charms on their clothing for warmth. Their shadows danced on the overgrown grass and weeds, there were bumps in the blackest of places where the gnomes were tucking themselves into their dirt beds. The moon was a thumb in the sky, and countless stars twinkled down on them as if they knew a secret that Malfoy and Hermione could only guess at.

"I reckon this place isn't too bad," Malfoy admitted.

"That's awfully big of you."

"They're okay folks."

"Be careful, Malfoy. People may think you have a heart," she joked.

"You're right. Allow me to amend, eh? They're a bunch of -"

"Careful. I might have to hex you."

He chortled, taking her hand. It was easy and effortless, and they walked like that. Hand in hand in candlelight, the most amatory notion, and she didn't think twice about it, because it was nice. Being with Malfoy was nice. Who would have ever thought?

"Four point four Celsius."

"What are you babbling on about, Hermione?"

"The temperature. It's going to be four-point-four Celsius this Saturday. Wouldn't it be nice to have a picnic?"

"A picnic? It's winter! That's what this white stuff is, Granger. It's snow and it's cold. It's bits of frozen water."

"You've never had a picnic in the snow?"

"Who has? The dead? Because that'll be what becomes of you if you have a picnic in freezing weather."

"That's not freezing. According to -"

"Don't bother," he said. "Fine, a picnic it is. In the cold. We'll freeze our buttocks off together and we'll die together. How morbidly romantic."

She simply thought it was romantic for even saying the word "romantic." She never pictured Malfoy in the presence of tiki lights in a garden of gnomes at night, on Christmas. But now that she was witnessing it, he was romantic, and more beautiful than she could've conjured in her mind.

"The kids will come, too," she said. "It'll be fun - and I promise, no more than an hour. You have my word." She would never want to keep Hugo and Rose out for longer than that. Magic or not.

He rolled his eyes. "If we catch our death..."

"You may sue me."

"Sue a lawyer... That ought to do me a lot of good."

She laughed, but he didn't. In deep thought his gaze traveled far off. That was until he pulled her to him. "What is going on between you and Weasel number four?"

"Will you ever stop calling him that?"

"There are seven of them. You expect me to keep all their names straight?"

"You're smart."

"As that may be, there's seven of them and they all have red hair."

She rolled her eyes that time. "George is my friend."

"He gave you a cap. Everyone else gave you books. You have a small library in there, Granger, and there's this cap." He tapped the bill of the gray knitted cap, shaking his head in revulsion.

"Talk about anything else," she told him as they circled the shack.

"Alright then. When are you going too start calling me, Draco?"

"It's a tad inappropriate, don't you think?"

"If we can do this," he held up their joint hands in point, "then we can refer to each other by our given names. Give it a go. I bet you'll like it."

He was right... Again. "Draco."

"How does that feel?"

It felt good. She didn't want to allow it, but it was. It felt oddly natural. "Say mine."

"I've said yours a hundred times."

"You've never let me hear it."

"I usually say it in my head before I say your last name aloud. Usually 'mudblood' follows it. Sorry about that."

She cringed.

"Hermione."

She looked up to him. "How was that?"

"Sweet." His eyes traveled from her eyes to her lips.

They were making their way to the garden gate where he would disapperate. They walked as slow as they could, stalling for the time that was flying past them. All too soon, they were there, but Draco didn't release her.

"Thanks for inviting me, Hermione. It was horrible. Uncomfortable. The worst time ever."

Crestfallen, she said, "I'm sorry for that..."

"The past thirty minutes is the best time I've had in ages. I reckon it makes up for the torture you put me through earlier." He bent and kissed her cheek. His lips lingered there, debating silently whether to travel the rest of the distance to her lips. "You're beautiful, smart, brave, but are you brave enough to leave with me?" He was halfway there when there was a great noise, and the moment was shattered, both of them aiming their wands to the door where George stood.

"Party is over," George announced, clapping his hands in fake glee. "Don't you think it's time to head home, Malfoy?"

Draco brought Hermione's hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. She was uncertain if it was for George's benefit. "I'll see you tomorrow."

George snatched her hand away, holding it in his protectively. He stared at his former school mate in a challenging way. It reminded her of wild animals on a documentary she once saw as a child. Soon they would clash their heads together to win the female, and she hoped that their antlers got stuck together in the process.

Malfoy smirked, not being goaded at all, and walked out of the gate. There was a small pop, signaling that he had disapparated.

Hermione was stunned at George's behavior. She snatched her hand back, and for good measure, she shoved him. "What was that?"

He answered her calmly, rubbing his shoulder where her hand landed. "He fancies you. And you're too good for him."

"It's not for you to decide who I date."

"You admit it, then? You're dating Malfoy?"

"This is none of your business. I refuse to discuss this with you."

"Alright then, Hermione. No need to get your knickers in a knot. Lets just go home." He held out his hand in an offer, but she didn't take it.

"I'll stay the night here. I'll find a place in the morning. Goodbye, George."

He looked appalled, hurt, but she turned away from him, and he didn't go after her.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

A thin layer of snow coated the hard ground, tiny flakes sticking to their hair and clothes. They used three thick blankets for comfort, Draco lying on his side bundled in a coat and gloves and scarf. He sneered at the snow around him, muttering angrily at how it looked like a wonderland, how he wished he lived someplace warmer. As he complained he became louder, as if he was back in class insulting Potter to earn laughs, but Hermione did laugh. She laughed at his ridiculousness, because although Draco really didn't like being outside in the cold, she knew for a fact that he was enjoying himself. She caught him smiling more than once when he thought she wasn't looking.

Rose and Hugo ran about, teaching Scorpius the Muggle game of tag. Draco called it a stupid game, and Scorpius looked ready to agree. He came back when he lost for the fifth time.

"You wouldn't lose if you ran," Rose called. "That's the point!"

Draco asked Hermione, "reckon she'll end up in Ravenclaw?"

"The Sorting Hat will sort them where it sees fit. Even if they are in Slytherin it won't change how much I love them. What if Scorpius is sorted into Gryffindor?"

Draco cringed. "The Sorting Hat is overrated."

Scorpius sat down between them sulkily. "I wished I brought my new broom," he said.

Draco reached into his coat and withdrew a few familiar packets. Scorpius was instantly happy, and he took the packets and ran off. "Rose, Hugo, look what I have!"

"Are those from George's shop," Hermione asked.

"Don't tell number four."

Hermione pretended to zip her lips.

"Funny. I know it was you who gave Scorpius the broom."

She tried to be impassive. "There was a new broom?"

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione."

"He likes it, doesn't he?"

"I can provide for my own son. I don't need you buying his gifts."

"I wrote 'Santa' on the tag. I thought it would make him happy." She _knew_ it would make him happy, which was precisely why she bought it. She knew that he would be excited when he opened it, would want to immediately take it outside and fly in the frigid weather. That it would make his whole holiday.

"It did."

She felt a course of alleviation that Draco had let him open it and keep it. "Then what's the problem?"

His mouth gaped as if he wanted to say something, but he fought against it. "I never thought I'd have to worry about money. And here I am: Broke! I made fun of the poor. I'd thought they brought it on themselves. They were stupid or wanted sympathy."

She thought of Ron. The Weasley's never had much money, and Ron had been the prime victim for Draco to make fun of for his ragged robes and secondhand books. Ron was bitter about it, a sore spot among the shadow of his brothers.

"That's a terrible thing to think," she told him.

"You're with a terrible person."

"You're not a terrible person," she half-scolded, but she was contemplating what he meant by "with." She wondered herself then what they were doing. They shared one kiss with him in her office, and there they were on a snow ground watching their children play. It couldn't constitute as a date, could it? Did she want it to be? It was Draco Malfoy, after all. His intent in his school career was to make her and her friends miserable, and she was representing him in court. What was she thinking?

Hermione knew what she was thinking. She was thinking that Draco was a changed man. He was a good man and a good father. And she... She fancied him.

Hesitantly, she took his hand, tangling their fingers together, feeling how they fit together. Unlike Ron's fingers, which were too large to fit well between hers like Draco's. They fit perfectly, comfortable. She did not take much stock in it meaning anything more than the way their bodies were made, and it had nothing to do with how she felt about him, but it was nice.

Draco kissed the tips of her fingers.

A cry broke their moment.

"Scorpius! Don't push!"

Rose was on her butt, glaring angrily up at the blond boy who seemed perplexed.

"Scorpius! Don't push her!" Draco's voice instantly became that of a father. It was such a different effect, something she hadn't quite gotten used to yet.

"But I caught her!"

"Yes," Hermione told him quietly, "he is definitely your son."

He gave her a proud look.

They went to fetch their children, Hermione helping Rose to her feet. She began explaining. "Not many Pureblood wizards know how to play tag, Rosie."

"I told him how," she said loftily, as if one lesson would be enough for someone to catch on.

Draco leaned to her ear, his sudden breath across her cheek surprising. "And she is definitely your daughter."

Hermione waved her wand at the blanket, it vanishing to the twig it was before they arrived (Draco insisted on not taking anything more than the food). "Lets go home."

"Can Hugo spend the night, father?" Scorpius raised his brows hopefully.

"You should ask Ms. Granger."

"Ms. Granger? Can Hugo spend the night?"

"Please," reminded Draco.

"Please," the young Malfoy amended.

"I'll have to ask his father."

"Why," Draco asked.

She shot him a seething glare for asking such a question in front of the children, for asking such a childish question himself. There was no way to stealthy answer it, if she had even wanted to, which she didn't. "I don't think that's prudent right now."

"Because we're staying at dad's," Rose answered easily, the spitting image of Hermione, only without her hand raised, and the red hair.

Hermione should have known... There was no way to hide anything from Rose. She was too smart, too much like Hermione. She hoped that she found as great of friends as Hermione did in Hogwarts, but friends that did not get her into the sort of trouble that Harry and Ron did. "That's right, Rosie."

"She's staying at grandma Weasley's," Rose continued.

"Rosie," she berated, and the little girl blushed.

Draco looked as if he wanted to say something. It was past his tongue and was on the edge of his lips when he pursed them together. He jerked his head to the shadow side of the toilet houses where they were disapparate. Whatever it was that made him stop from saying whatever smart comment that Draco was going to say, Hermione was impressed.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Packing was a part of closure. She did it each summer when she traveled back to Hogwarts, packing up her days of summer vacation. She did it before she went home from Hogwarts, too, packing up her days of studying in the library and fighting monsters with her friends. Each item was a small and seemingly insignificant move forward. She wondered how much of her life she spent packing.

Hermione couldn't pack to leave George's. There was no reason to return there. Since the fire took everything she had she lived with bare necessities, and she couldn't stay another night at the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley would be more than happy to have her stay, but she couldn't burden her. There had to be someplace where she would not be an interference, someplace that was not inappropriate. She couldn't come up with anyone.

Harry and Ginny were still making up for the time they lost when Harry was searching for Horcruxes. It would only serve to make Hermione uncomfortable and put them at an inconvenience.

The one other person that came to her mind was Luna. Luna would be perfect, even with all of her oddities. She would have to look into staying there after she dropped off Rose and Hugo.

Ron lived in a flat on a street that should have belonged to identical houses. In a strip with few others of its kinds, it stood out. The two cherry blossoms on either side of the steps appeared as if it was trying too hard to blend into the surrounding family homes, it left it looking larger, brooder, and too-welcoming all at once.

Hermione extracted the Muggle key card from her pocket, and slid it through, the door clicking open. Rose and Hugo pushed with little help from their mother. They went into the flower-scented hallway.

"Number five," she reminded her children as they raced ahead, fighting over the buzzer.

"Hey now," Ron said exiting his flat and hugging Hugo and Rose. "Go on in, cartoons are on!"

"You haven't been watching that Kimberly Improbable show again, have you, Ron?"

"It's Kim Possible," he blushed crimson.

She shook her head fondly. No one would have ever suspected that _she_ was the muggle-born. When Rose was born he became as fascinated with the muggle things Hermione bought her as his father. Then, when they divorced he decided to live in a muggle flat, to give Rose and Hugo a chance to learn about both sides.

"Everything is in their backpacks -"

"Hermione, I'm their dad. I can take care of them."

"Well..." She looked in, hoping that Rose and Hugo would come and say goodbye, but they were glued to the tele. "I best be going." She turned.

"Hey! Rugrats! Say goodbye to your mother."

Hermione stopped, giving Ron a thankful glance before Rose and Hugo both embraced her. She got to her knees and held them close, told them to be good for their father, that she had her mobile on her if they needed anything. Hermione only made it halfway through this lecture before Hugo broke away from her. Rose shot him an exasperated look, and continued listening to her, until she placed her hand on her shoulder.

"Mum, we'll be good. I'll watch Hugo."

Ron looked flustered. "I'm your dad!"

"Thanks, Ron." She stood, watching her children run back to the television. She would miss them...

"What's wrong?" He checked into the lounge, and closed the door behind him. "Something's bothering you."

"I..." She didn't want to be going over it with Ron, George's brother, her ex-husband. It was improper.

"What is it? Hermione, you can tell me anything."

It was Ron. The boy she grew up with, the boy she fought enemies with, the boy she tried vainly to keep out of trouble. It was Ron. Her Ron. She cried. "George and I fought... I have to look for a place to stay."

There was a flicker of... What? Pride? Happiness? It was quickly gone, as he took in her tears. He held her gawkily to his chest.

"What am I going to do," she asked to no one in particular, holding his sides, familiarity of her past under her fingertips.

"I'll tell you what you're going to do," he said highly. "You're going to stay here. With me."

"Ron -"

"You're the mother of my children, and I won't have you out there on the street."

"I could stay with Luna. It's not hopeless, it's just..." She hated the argument with George. It was time that he go on on his own, but it was not the way she wanted to leave it, and that was what was bothering her.

"I'll ring Harry; take off work tomorrow. I'll watch the kids, you go out shopping. Okay?"

"I have a hearing." She remembered, Malfoy's hearing was tomorrow, she was expected to defend him. She wasn't looking forward to that...

He shrugged. "Whatever you have to do. The kids will be taken care of."

She leaned fully into his side, partly from exhaustion, partly from appreciation. "Thank you, Ron."

Hugo and Rose were excited when they saw Hermione come through, Ron explaining that she would be staying with them. The reaction was different than Hermione would've imagined.

When Ron and her divorced three years ago, Hugo took it the hardest. He couldn't understand how it didn't work out, and why it couldn't work out. Rose was sad, and she did her best to help her brother through it. It was hard on all of them, but when Hugo and Rose saw how much happier their parents were, that they were simply a different family than they were, they understood that it was for the best, and Hermione never felt prouder to have such young children be so selfless.

This time, however, Hermione saw they were apprehensive. Rose had gotten up, and tugged her mother down to her level. "What about Mr. Malfoy, mummy?"

She smoothed her frizzy hair although it wasn't nearly as frizzy as Hermione's had been. "That's not for you to worry about. It's one night. I'll find a place in the morning." The likeliness of that was slim, but she hoped fiercely. She just had to find a place, and she regretted that she hadn't looked hard enough before.

Hermione borrowed Ron's toothbrush, and his night clothes. She had exited the tiny bathroom, pulling her hair into a high ponytail.

"They're asleep," Ron said, shutting Hugo's room.

Both her and Ron came to the decision that they wouldn't read to the kids together, like they used to. That while it was Ron's flat, he would do the honors. They didn't want there to be any confusion. Not anymore than there already was.

"Thank you." She fingered the hem of his Chuddly Canon's t-shirt. "For everything."

Ron kept his distance at the end of the small hall. "You're... Erm... Welcome." He shuffled his feet.

Ron hadn't changed much in his days since Hogwarts. He blushed a little less, but still became easily awkward, and when he did blush his ears still resembled radishes. Yet, he was stronger, maturer, more loving than he was in their school days, and Hermione hated that they couldn't work it out. It would've been perfect, to marry her best friend, but they tried too hard. It was simply not meant to be, and somehow, as they waited on each other, they missed something else.

Ron mumbled goodnight and retreated to his bedroom, leaving Hermione to go to the lounge, where she saw the couch set up for her. She smiled. Ron was really sweet...

There was a soft knock, and Hermione stilled. Her hand went to the wand, peeping through the hole of the door. Her eyes could have been deceiving her. What was that blond man standing on Ron's step for?

She opened the door, placing her wand back into the pocket of Ron's trousers. "Draco? What are you doing here?" George must have told him when Draco went looking for her. He could have even sent an owl and George answered telling him everything.

Draco scanned her, her in men's pajamas, her answer to the door to her ex-husband's home, and his face fell into further misery. "So Weasely, then?" He nodded, as if her guilty expression was all the answer he needed.

"No. Draco." She grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving. "It's not what you think."

He shrugged off her hold and that oddly hurt more than his pain. It was a physical rejection. He didn't even want her to touch him. "Goodbye, Granger. See you at the hearing."

Hermione was left standing there. She should have gone after him, but would it have made a difference? He was angry, and she was dishonest. Again.

She turned tearfully into the living room.

Rose stood by the fireplace, looking sadly upon her mother.

"He loves you, mummy."

It was sadder, what Rose saw. Hermione got to her knees, and held her sweet little daughter in her arms. She allowed herself to cry.

Her small hand patted her back. "It's okay, mummy. It's okay to love him back."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

A chipped ivory cup of coffee, an almost-empty red pen, and the day's muggle newspaper to search for houses for sell. Hermione woke two hours previous to the time of the hearing to do all the things that she had to do, and she still was almost late. She was never late. Her watch was set five minutes slow.

With the marked paper under her arm, her heels clicked, a fast and rippling echo in the empty corridor of the Ministry of Magic, stories below the ground. She met Draco outside of the door they would be passing through to make their case and hear the verdict. He turned as she approached him, his eyes a stormy glaze, his hand outreached to shake hers in the most formal fashion. She nodded, shoving the newspaper and pen inside of her briefcase.

"I would like to give you my thanks, Ms. Granger for defending me."

She straightened and stared at his hand for a beat too long. Whatever she had expected, that was not it. "Draco... I should have told you, but it all happened very fast."

"He was your husband, you have two lovely children from him. It should be him."

"No... I don't love Ron, I love..."

He stared at her expectantly, the glaze disappearing from his eyes for a moment. "Who do you love, Granger?"

The door opened from a burly man. She felt relieved from having to answer the question and infuriated because the conversation needed to be had. She touched the inside of his hand, her fingertips on his palm. It was the most affectionate she could be toward him, in case anyone had been watching.

"You are most welcome, Mr. Malfoy."

The glaze returned to his eyes, and they strolled stiffly into the circle of dull clad and frowning jurors. As many times as she had pleaded her cases in the dank and spacious rooms, she had never been nervous. For the first time Hermione was worried. Worried about the prosecutor, Draco, and whether he was prepared to be put into Azkaban.

Suddenly, it mattered more than anything else in the world. She knew Draco's fate was a done deal, but she would do everything she could to free him. Right then, thinking of Scorpius in the hands of his incompetent aunt, she made herself that vow. She would make him out to be a victim. It was Draco's worst nightmare, his own Boggart, but she would do it, if it would save him.

The prosecutor made his claims of Mr. Malfoy attacking the men in an alleyway. She was a professional and such lies she was used to, but she was losing sight of the man she was defending and only seeing the man she spent a winter's picnic with. They were telling lies about her friend and nothing made her more angry than to have to sit quietly, awaiting her turn.

Hermione told Draco's side in her prestigious and knowledgeable tone. She suggested a community service, a muggle activity that would ensure that Mr. Malfoy would not commit such an act again, which the court liked very much. She was doing well, until the prosecutor stood, slammed his hand against his table beside hers and yelled that Mr. Malfoy should not be allowed leniency. He called Draco an inbreed.

Hermione was prepared to ignore it, but when Mr. O'Donall brought out photos of Hermione and Draco in a cafe, holding hands, asking for a mistrial on the account of a personal relationship and possible use of illegal potions in her department, that was where the trouble began. Hermione felt the incisors that the bloodsucker used.

"Draco Malfoy is not an inbreed, you pompous slime!"

She lost it, she snapped, and it was not Hermione Granger's finest moment, for she attacked the prosecutor, bringing out her wand to do it.

* * *

><p>The cell Hermione was in was damp, her hands slicking on the stone bench she was resting on. She tapped her foot impatiently, it making wet smacking sounds on the stone. <em>Smack, smack, smack.<em>.. A voice bellowed in the chamber for her to stop, and she threw her face into her hands. How long would it take for Harry to bail her out? Had he heard about her, yet?

The billowy guard was particularly rejoiced about arresting her. She recognized his name, Lochwick, as being one of the Death Eaters that escaped conviction. It was a dream come true for him, to arrest the "great" Hermione Granger, best friend to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

There was the already-familiar clanging of the door, the fresh air creeping in like slow and sweet temptation. Her heart raced, expecting to see Harry in front of her, but instead of the raven-haired boy, there was the blond ferret.

"Malfoy," she explicated.

"That's some greeting there, Granger. And when I was going to bail you out..." He clucked his tongue in a "tsk, tsk, tsk."

"Then be done with it."

He shook his head, and hesitated at the seat opposite of her. His nose wrinkled and he seemed to make the decision that he would not sit on anymore filthy things, and so he stood there, his arms crossed cockily over his chest. "Hermione Granger got locked up in Azkaban for attacking a lawyer... This may, in fact, be my proudest moment."

"I feel sad for you."

"Feel sad for yourself," he scoffed, "I'm not sitting in a cell."

"You were. It was thanks to me, you lousy -"

"Wind down there, Granger. I bailed you out." His hand twitched, as if he was about to touch her, and then thought better of it.

"Draco." She took his wrist, but at his deathly stare she released him. "I am sorry."

"I told you there were two reasons I wanted to change the world. My son is one. You're the other."

Her breath caught, but it was somehow imperative that she not break eye contact. Like with a Hippogriff, she had to stand her ground until he bowed back.

"I spotted you on the lake at Hogwarts," he told her, only his lips moving, his face frozen in distaste. "In our First Year. You were a boat away from me. You had the same look I did. I thought you were the same as me. If I'd known..." He inhaled. "If I'd known you were muggle-born... I don't think it would've made a right bit of difference. I think I liked you then. Not that I would have ever admitted it."

"You did...?"

"You called me a foul human being on the train when I told you to get out of my compartment. You stood up to me. No one except my parents did that. Do you understand why it's surprising to me? That when I finally get my chance with the smartest Witch in school, she is the one that lied to me. You thought I was the foul human being, but, Hermione, I did a lot of things in my life I'm not proud of - and I may be what you say, but there's something you are that I'm not. I'm not a liar." He turned, and left, leaving the door ajar behind him.

The cell was colder, the air more chilling, and the scent no longer filled her with longing to leave. It was as though Draco took every bit of warmth and good feeling he had with him.

Suddenly, Hermione didn't feel like leaving then. She collapsed back on the bench, and buried her wet face in her hands. She sobbed and sobbed.

Harry never did come for her... George did.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Her hand was wrapped tightly within George's. He held it all the way up to Ron's door, where they stood in the hallway that smelled that day of freshly baked apples. He looked sadly down at her, his brows pulled in concern.

"You can stay with me. You don't have to stay here."

"My kids are here." She retracted from him, although many parts of her didn't want to. "I don't want them confused. You're their Uncle."

"I don't like that you're staying with my brother. I know it's bollocks." He stared at the door in deep concentration, as if guessing the percentage that Ron was listening. He clearly decided that he wasn't and he continued. "You two have children, but..." He met her gaze. "I wish badly they were mine." He was brave in his eye contact, challenging her to rebuke him. After years and years of pranks, and after years and years of her fighting against them, it was what he expected.

When she said nothing, he left without another word, not even a goodbye. She watched his back going out the door until he was gone from the outside window, down the pavement.

Ron opened the door then, startling her. She wondered if he had been listening but one look at his visage told her he hadn't. He was too happy to see her.

"Sorry."

"That's fine... Fine." She glanced once at the exit out of the flat and so did Ron.

Then, he smiled. "Azkaban, Hermione?"

She crossed her arms, waiting for the jest.

"Lucky Harry or I didn't pick you up, eh? That would've been something... I can see the headlines now -"

She strolled past him, whatever joke he was going to make dying in his throat, where she wished they would all stay for the time being.

She sat at the kitchen table bringing an abandoned paper toward her. She would find a place to live. She would do it that night. She wouldn't waste another minute jumping from friend's houses, and she would no longer be a burden or a bigger question mark than Luna. She would set right what she had done wrong, because Hermione was all about doing the right thing. Unlike Draco, she was not going to change her demeanor.

Not that Draco had done a whole lot to change his...

A week later, Hermione did find a home. Not just a house, but a home, and it was called Ivy Cottage.

Ron couldn't understand what was wrong with the city, but she was tired of the noise and of the bustle London offered. She wanted someplace that she could go walking with her children, and there was a sweet road from the cottage that wound its way to the ocean. There was the sweetness of its scent. It reminded her of many summer vacations with her parents.

The cottage itself was a narrow two stories and was quite run down, the fence in need of a good repair, as it was tilting so far sideways that she was able to step over it. The whole lot was in need of good hard work, and she was glad. She had taken a break from work. This was, of course, not her choice. It was ordered by Kingsley, and she had little room to argue. After all, she had been sent to Azkaban for attacking a prosecutor.

From bottom to top she cleaned the cottage with countless buckets of soapy water and sponges. The process took two days, and in the meantime, she slept out in her backyard in a tent.

There was a tinge of loneliness, but she told herself it was what she needed, because she had to figure out what it was that she wanted. She could no longer string along Draco or George. She could no longer stay with Ron and slow his life. Things had to change and it had to start with her.

At a nearby store she bought buckets of paint. She painted the house and fence a bright white, using an easy spell to keep from fading or letting the ocean water effect its color. She then painted the shutters of the windows and her door an ocean blue, deeply bright.

She bought white furniture. A white couch, desk, table, chairs, bed, wardrobe, finishing it off with cloths of sea-green, and for good measure she treated herself to a white eyelet sundress. At the end of the week, she was tired and a little worse for wear, but her house was beautiful and she was happy. She couldn't wait to show it to Rose and Hugo. They would be so happy to have a place to come to, a second home. A wall of Hugo's was done in octopuses and sharks and Rose's in fishes and coral.

After a long good bath in her new porcelain tub (with its brass lion feet) she sat out on her porch in her new sundress. She rocked in the rocker she found in someone's yard sale and painted it the same blue she loved so much.

She enjoyed hearing the crashing waves, taking in the sea air. It was music and smelled as good as any candle she could buy. It was relaxing and she knew that she soon would be ready to go back to work. She would – Wait... Yes, that was certainly someone coming up to her cottage.

"Draco?"

She stood, and met him on the steps of the porch, aware of her bare feet and the pebbles sticking themselves into her skin.

He looked quite out of place with his waistcoat, his air of superiority and the way his shoulders were slightly up to his ears. "Hello, Ms. Granger."

"What are you doing here?"

"Your rudeness never fails to astound me." Finally, there was the smile she was unknowingly missing. He withdrew an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. "This is full payment. A little extra for the good laugh of getting arrested."

She exhaled, and wondered if she would regret asking. "Where did you get this money?"

"The balding muggle bloke next door? I took his wallet."

"You what?"

"Easy there, Granger. I sued the guys that beat me. They paid handsomely for my silence."

She didn't know whether to be relieved or angry that it was how Draco came to pay her. It was probable that it was how the Malfoy's came to be rich in the first place. Lies, deceit, and using the system. Typical.

"Although I would like nothing more than to see them rot in an Azkaban cell, I'm not sorry for it." He answered her quizzical stare. "I woke up in your house. Being knocked comatose outside of the place you and your ruddy friends were celebrating led me to you. I will never regret mouthing off."

She warmed, but she didn't miss the bit of factual information she was not treated to. So Draco had done something to anger them to that point. "When have you ever regretted mouthing off, Draco?"

He gave it serious thought. "Never." He stepped up meeting her eyes equally and in turn met her lips.

It was soft, just a touch of lips, but it sent her heart racing. He looked into her eyes a moment longer than he should have and he stepped down.

It wasn't enough. When was it? Hermione flew on her instincts and bowed forward, grabbing the seams of his muggle waistcoat and pulled him back to her lips. She pressed harder, hoping to convey what she couldn't possibly say. That she loved him. That she wanted him. That it somehow had always been him.

She was disappointed that he didn't look shocked at her brashness. No, he smirked that awful smirk of his and stepped back again out of her reach. "Tell me you're sorry, and I may forgive you."

"You prat."

"Say you love me, Granger."

"You're an arse."

One foot behind the other, he stepped again. "Tell me you love me, Granger, and I may stay." She pursed her lips, and this time, his condescending look fell. "I would give my purest blood to be with you, but you can't set aside your pride?"

Tears filled her eyes, and she furiously blinked them away, wiping her thumb across her lids. When she focused on Draco, he wasn't there. She stared at the spot he had gone, the light dirt path, the half-finished mosaic she was completing as a walk.

"Goodbye, Malfoy." She closed the door of her cottage.

Some things were not meant to be. Hermione and Draco were one of those things. There was no way that either of them could catch up to the other in time to set things right, and as it always was with Hermione, she knew before he did how things were supposed to be.

* * *

><p>AN: For all those who are curious, the reason Draco wore a waistcoat was in thought that Hermione would see that he was willing to give a little in muggle ways. He does not keep the waistcoat, he throws it out after he sees it made no difference.

There are two more chapters.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"Look at this pretty one, mummy!"

Hermione inspected the small seashell in her daughter's palm. Along the broken edge of the ridges was an oddly attractive brown. She smiled kindly down at her. "It is very pretty, Rose."

"Mr. Malfoy should come with us, don't you think, mummy?"  
>She nodded absently at the ocean. "Maybe sometime." She didn't have the heart to tell her daughter - much less her son, that Mr. Malfoy wouldn't be returning in their lives. At least none other than as Hugo's friend's father.<p>

"What's wrong, mummy?"

"I'm a little tired, that's all."

"Put radishes in your ears."

"Now, where did you hear that?" She knew where she heard it at but she wanted to hear it from her daughter.

"Auntie Luna."

"Of course." Hermione smiled. "You know that doesn't work -"

"Oh, mummy, you're such a pessimist."

"Now, where did you hear that?" She honestly didn't know that time and she wanted to know simply to put blame on someone.

"Uncle George."

That seemed correct, and Hermione left it alone and continued her search of seashells. They collected the tiny broken pieces, the imperfect ones. Hermione planned on gluing them onto a round bowl and using it as a centerpiece in her kitchen, matching those flawed ones collectively like a puzzle. It was her next project, as the mosaic walk had been completed as of two days ago.

"Oi, here's a good one!"

George's knees sunk in the sand as he held up a seashell. Hermione spotted a curved and a red skeleton-like thing in its crevice and she rushed over, lowering her son's curious hand. "Careful, Hugo, dear. Uncle George, what are you thinking? It may bite."

He rolled his eyes, and set the occupied seashell down. "You're a spoil sport Hermione."

"I'm only trying to keep my children safe," she said back.

Hugo ran after Rose, scooping up seawater in his little hands and splashing her. While they were distracted George kissed her forehead quickly, before she could react or stop him. He ran and picked up Rose and swung her around, his bare and large feet splashing in the overlapping waves.

Like a family. George and her children, her watching. It was the perfect moment.

Except... It didn't come close to a dozen perfect moments she already had.

When George heard (from Ron, no doubt) that Draco's case was closed, he wasted little time in coming to her house for a tour. They had walked along the beach, held hands, and he pulled her hair back into a ponytail when the wind whipped it in front of her face. A moonlight walk on a beach, with George, with her ex-husband's brother... There was something wrong with that, and not because of who he was, but because of who he wasn't.

That feeling in her heart was refusing to go away, to be satisfied with who was with her. She did what she could to settle it, to shut it someplace else where she would not be bothered by it. She took on projects as she contemplated returning to work. However, she was told by her superior yesterday to wait until the book had its release. That was the opposite of her intentions but she could not argue.

That night George read to Hugo (with few tricks) and Hermione read to Rose. Despite being fully able to read themselves, they took a secret joy out of hearing their mother attempt the different voices. She would sometimes use a spell to manipulate her voice to change realistically to the multitude of characters.

When they were asleep two books later (George three), Hermione and George fell onto the couch in exhaustion. She curled at his side and rested her head on his shoulder, his arm around hers. He kissed the part in her wild, wind-swept hair.

"Long day," he said conversationally that she knew was leading to a bigger more meaningful conversation.

"Shhh... They're asleep."

"I reckon a good indoor game of Quidditch is out then."

She laughed and laid her head on his stomach, comforted by the rise and fall of his breathing. She was nearly asleep when -

"Hermione?"

"Yes, George," she uttered.

"Fred told me to go after you." He had her attention then. "Ron was a pounce to you. I didn't want to ruin anything but I saw the way you looked at him. Hermione... We can be together now."

She looked up at him.

He chuckled, "no need to look like I told you you had dragon pox."

"I'm sorry."

"It's the ferret, isn't it?"

"It won't work," she whispered sadly.

"There will be many of my handsome years when I'll regret asking this question: Why not?"

She didn't know how to answer that. Her and Malfoy... It never made sense. Fire and water could not coexist in the same space. Unless there was magic involved, and Draco was that. He was magic. That didn't mean that he was right for her.

"I know you love him. I wished you would have told me that days ago."

Her cheeks heated. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"I hoped you wouldn't."

Gently he straightened forcing Hermione to sit up. It felt worse, to sit up and face what she had done. She used George, and she despised that about herself. There was no justification, not even her needing him with her, to soften the blows her heart took every time her mind crossed to Draco, when the children asked where he was at. The horrible anticipation to be sure that he wouldn't be waiting at work for her.

"Hermione, I don't want to be the one to tell you this: He loves you, and for reasons beyond me you love him too." He winced. "Go for it. If you don't, you'll never forgive yourself." He peered at the bedroom doors. "The worst that could happen is two more beautiful children."

She pictured another baby, a silver eyed beauty. she pictured Draco at her side, rocking their child to sleep. Perhaps they would be cuddling on the couch, much like the way her and George had been, but she imagined it would be more intimate just for the fact that she would be loving him.

"You two... You and Malfoy make sense."

She blinked. That was contrary to her earlier thoughts, but that was everything that George was. A big contradictory to her being, like a joke. He was a living joke in the lightest sense of the word.

"We don't make sense at all," she told him. Why she did was beyond her. She shouldn't have been discussing it with him but the worries were weighing and she could barely breathe.

"Sure you do. You two make each other happy, that's all the sense that needs to be made out of it." He glimpsed down at her. "Then again, I'm talking with sensible Hermione Granger." He shifted away and gripped her shoulders, pushing her further back so he could look straight into her face. "I'd rather battle eight bloody giants than tell you this, but seeing as I have no chance... Malfoy challenges you. You challenge him. He's as imperfect as they come and you love imperfect things like Crookshanks and Dobby. The stupid reformed fool can be himself with you because you won't judge him, you'll only try to save him. You and your inter-house-unity dragon shit." He released her. "You two belong with each other." Gingerly, he swiped a tear from her jaw.

Hermione buried her wet face in her hands, much like she did in that Azkaban cell when the cracked pieces of her and Draco's non-existent relationship gave way to deeper breaks. "It's too late."

He guffawed. "With Malfoy, it's never too late. He survived on Voldemort's side only to switch at the last minute."

She wanted to believe George was right, but she could only remember the pain of Malfoy leaving. They were inconsistent, one ingredient meant to maim, the other to heal, two ingredients for a lethal potion. One wrong stir and all would be lost. She didn't know if she could afford it.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Hermione chose a gray-blue dress, a perfect match to the sea on a cold and dreary day. In a dropped necklace dangled a pearl. Her hair was swept up elegantly, and she was ready. Ready for the accumulation of all that her and Harry had worked for.

The ball that would be the beginning of uniting purebloods and Muggle-borns and half-bloods of understanding and tolerance. Hermione's book had been finished, had gone through days and nights of changes and editing and publication. It would be showcased that night.

Hermione had foolishly thought that when the war was over, everything would be at peace. Sure, there would be laws that needed to be altered or thrown out altogether, but she never thought that they would have to continue to fight as hard as they were for unity.

An invitation was sent to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. It was a toss-up if they would show. It would be a miracle if Draco did. Her heart ached at the thought that he wouldn't be there. He should be there, but she didn't have a clear reason why.

The Atrium was gorgeous. In the low lighting the fountain in all of its golden speckled glory was lit with wonder. Wizards and Witches and goblins mingled and chattered happily. Hermione walked ten steps and was approached by various people that led her into a discussion of politics. She let her eyes scan the room hopefully for Harry or Ron. Mostly for Draco. Either way, she had to be going soon, but felt too rude to tell Mr. Timbers that she must leave. After all, he had given a lot to the repair work the Ministry and Hogwarts had to undergo.

A rough and heavy freckled hand landed on her shoulder. "Excuse me, sir. May I borrow Ms. Granger here?"

The squat man jerked his head up and jumped. "Wow, by Merlin, it's George Weasley, right?" He pushed up his spectacles. "Yes, yes, I see. Good to see you, dear boy. Yes, you may borrow our lovely Ms. Granger."

"Thank you." George shook the wizard's hand and quickly led Hermione away. He bent at her ear, "you're welcome."

"Thank you, George. Where are Harry and Ron?"

"Ron is dipping into the Butterbeer and sweets. Harry is going up to the podium soon."

He pointed to a raised platform, a podium at its front center, and there was Harry off to the side straightening his black dress robes. Hermione patted George's hand and made her way toward her oldest friend.

"Thought you would be the first here, Hermione."

She smiled, hugging him and kissing his cheek. "Hugo was playing tricks on the babysitter." She glanced once over her shoulder in the direction of George. "I'm banning the joke shop, Harry, I've had enough. And George giving him all those fireworks!"

"He does it to get a rise out of you."

"He's succeeding!" She shook her head, and smoothed her dress. "Back to more important things. Have you prepared your speech, Harry?"

He gave her a gleaming, yet teasing, smile. "We're not in Potions, Hermione."

"I'm sorry. I'm awfully nervous."

"Yeah. Me too."

Harry stepped up on the platform and Hermione took her place among the others as a hush fell over them. Harry placed his hands on the sides of the podium, the white of his knuckles clear of his grip. The papers shuffled themselves in front of him.

"My name is Harry James Potter. I welcome each and every one of you to the Unity Ball. ..."

A hand encased Hermione's shoulder again, but this one was gentler, firmer, and it was much paler. She turned and saw Draco's nose to her cheek. "Hello, Ms. Granger," he whispered, his fresh and cool breath breezing over her ear.

Draco was dressed in a black robe, a dark silver lining the hems that offset his eyes. His hair was slicked back, and he looked just like the boy she used to know. Only this man was different. He was closer, sweeter. He had undeniably grown up.

They stood there within the crowd, invisible to all, staring into each other. She was distinctly aware of his fingers caressing the back of her hand, over the hills of her knuckles. She felt as though she was suffocating from his nearness, her chest contracting in a way she had only moments before wished for.

"I will introduce now, Ms. Hermione Granger, author of 'Postwar Effects.'"

Clapping exploded around her, rudely jolting her out of her reverie. Numbly, she broke away from Draco and walked up to the stadium, Harry shaking her hand formally as they passed.

To keep her balance and composure she mimicked Harry's moves and held onto the edges of the podium. Her parchment papers in her curvy handwriting were shuffling themselves in order, and then held stationary for her to read. Only, she felt that they were the wrong words.

"Sonorus," she said, and her next words were loud and booming for all of the Atrium to hear. "Hello and welcome. Thank you for joining us tonight."

She placed a hand over the parchment, holding the coarse paper still. "I am Hermione Jean Granger. This book, _Postwar Effects_ is a written documentation on real cases and real problems plaguing our community. Our community of Wizards and Witches, Goblins and Elves, and every creature. Every creature holds importance in our community, to shape and to mold into something beautiful. The stones of the fountain that is lighting our Atrium tonight did not come from the same place, nor were they built onto each other by the same wands, but they work perfectly together to serve us this night.

"I am a Muggle-born. Like many of you that are Muggle-born, Albus Dumbledore came to my house and told me a grand story about this castle for children like me - like all of us that can do magic. That was what brought us together then, and what brings us together now is hatred.

"The war began by a man of the name Voldemort." A few gasps were audible and echoed. She went on as though she hadn't heard. "He is dead but the war has not ended. We must learn to live in harmony with each other. This is of the greatest value. Please, keep in mind your children and our future. Must we lose more than what we have gained? Do not set our children against one another. Teach peace and unity. Let there not be need for another savior."

By their own volition, her eyes found Draco's. "I - I..." She sucked in a breath, inwardly steadying herself. "For the ones we love we will begin again. I will rewrite the laws and the sentences that caused all of our pain, whether we are wizard or witch, houself or centaur. Thank you." She left her written speech where it was and left the stadium on legs that felt like jelly.

Harry was the first to embrace her, and the world collided inside, and she was able to hear the deafening applause.

After many talks and many toasts, the dancing began. Where the podium once stood was a band whose name slipped her mind the second that it was announced. It was Harry's choice, but like Hermione he didn't listen to Wizarding radio, and technically, it was Ginny's choice.

"Did you mean it?"

She turned in her seat to face the slim waist of Draco. He held out his hand and aided her to her feet. In solemn, she followed him to the midst of the dancers unable to refuse – not wanting to refuse.

He held her to him, and she was surprised (she shouldn't have been) at his grace. He must have had lessons. Of course he had to have lessons. The Malfoy's couldn't possibly be poor dancers, they were too elegant and important for that.

"Did you mean it, Ms. Granger?"

"Did I mean what, Mr. Malfoy?"

"A new beginning?"

She knew he wasn't speaking of the speech she gave. She sighed, feeling his body so close to hers, and she wanted it – him – all of it. She had been a coward, but she would no longer be, because they were right together. "Yes, but we'll have to work on this."

"You know I hate work. The work proceeds something enjoyable, and I enjoy you. I love making you angry and I love making love to you. I love everything about us. You are work, but the sort you love."

"We've never made love," she told him in what she meant to be a humorless tone, but the humor seeped through her tone, and he smiled.

"We will soon. I can think of no better beginning and reason than a lowly Slytherin pure-blood marrying a high and mighty Muggle-born Gryffindor."

She felt like she was falling. It wasn't the sort of falling in love but more like missing a step on the stairs. Falling into hopes and dreams and nightmares and one person that could destroy you. It was like falling in love, but more terrifying, because it was Draco, and he had hurt her before, but she hurt him more.

"Neither can I, lowly Slytherin."

He touched her cheek. "We'll be the start of a good example, eh?"

"I'm always a good example," she boasted teasingly, taking his cue.

"Then teach me."

"I plan to, Malfoy."

He dipped her, his hand firm on her lower back, his fingers digging slightly in in show of possession. As though he never planned to let her go again. She hoped he wouldn't.

Everyone slowed in their movements, watching with amusement. The ferret and the bookworm. Malfoy and Granger. The pure-blood and Muggle-born. Fire and ice..

Yes, they would be an example of Postwar Effects. The best ending for her book.

* * *

><p>AN: This is the end. I hope you enjoyed it!

And if you were wondering if George would find the same happiness, I imagined that Angelina came into his life shortly afterward.


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